


Under Falling Snow

by TheFloralFox



Series: Snowy SeungChuChu [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Background Otayuri, Background Victuuri - Freeform, Friendship, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV First Person, Romance, background milasara, other background ships if you squint, past CelestinoPhichit, past ChrisPhichit, radio show au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFloralFox/pseuds/TheFloralFox
Summary: Phichit loves his job: talking to strangers on the radio, helping them through their problems. One caller is vastly different, and Phichit can't seem to get him off his mind. He'll find out soon enough that the feeling is mutual.





	1. Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my second YoI fanfic :3 I had more success with my debut fic than I expected and I thank all of my readers for that. Like, sincerely hahha I write because I enjoy it, but getting positive feedback makes it even more enjoyable to share! Like my first fic, this will be in first person; I know that’s not everyone’s jam, but my third person writing just. ..it feels forced and first person comes naturally to me. Anyway, this chapter is a Seung Gil one, and I hope you like it :D

Every tick of the clock on the far wall is another reminder that time could not be passing slower, even if it was possible. Each click on my keyboard, few and far between, emphasizes the fact that I am still at my desk, still chipping away at a memo, still staring blankly at my computer screen and, unfortunately, still not on my lunch break. I sigh again when I check my watch, confirming that it’s definitely too early for me to leave the office now, especially with the lack of progress I’ve made on this vicious document. It really won’t take long to finish writing, but the aggressive growling of my stomach is preventing me from moving forward. Surprisingly, the slow passage of time isn’t the most annoying thing in this room: the mediocre vocals and artificial music of the city’s local pop station manage to grate on my nerves even more. Each and every day at the office begins with these songs, only ending just before lunch. It’s only a few hours, but it feels like a lot longer with such bland and banal noise filling the space around me. I can usually tolerate it without complaining, but today isn’t working out that way. I turn in my chair, swiveling to get a look at the man responsible for all this noise pollution. Of course, he’s busy working on a spreadsheet. I wonder if the tapping of his own keyboard is enough to drown out everything else; his typing is pretty loud. The others who work back here are near the window on the opposite side of the room; they don’t have to listen to this radio station like I do. I clear my throat to get his attention: he turns his head my direction, blinking once before nodding. My shoulders fall on an exhale before I stare at his computer. “That’s loud.”

“What is?”

“That station.”

He points to the screen, arching an eyebrow. “The music?”

“Yeah.”

“You think it’s too loud?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes.”

“It’s the same volume as usual.”

“Liar.” I don’t believe him, or that irritating curl one side of his mouth is starting to take. I know I’m becoming hangry, but there’s no way the radio is always this obnoxious.

“I swear.”

I rub my eyes so I won’t have to see him smirking anymore. “Otabek, really.”

“I know it’s not good music.” He softly laughs, altering the volume. “But that’s not why I listen. And I can’t help that you have ears like a bat. I think you’re the only other person who can even hear it.”

Sighing, I turn back to my computer. Instead of working, I type: ‘I’M STARVING I’M STARVING WHY DOES OTABEK’S MUSIC SUCK SO MUCH I’M SO HUNGRY CAN I GO TO LUNCH’ with the speed of a snail. “I doubt it.” My stomach lets loose a growl that overpowers the terrible music, startling me a little. While I delete my rantings, a granola bar comes flying over my shoulder and hits my wireless mouse. Quickly, I unwrap it like it might get taken away.

“You skip breakfast?”

“No.” I pause to chew, turning back to face my coworker. “I’m just really hungry.”

Otabek shrugs, unimpressed. “Okay. You’re welcome.” He turns his attention back to his spreadsheet, typing real figures and earning his paycheck, unlike me. I hum a thank you and glance at my screen again. I’m still uninspired, but I guess the urgency to get out of here and find food isn’t as strong as before. While I listlessly type away, I consider where I’ll go for lunch; I’ve been to every restaurant in the area at least a dozen times and never packed my own meal since moving here. Bringing food from home would mean real grocery shopping and sharing the office fridge; I’ve heard my other coworkers complain about food going missing, both labelled and unlabeled, food hanging around indefinitely, messes ruining both meals and the integrity of the fridge: no thanks.

After a few solid minutes of work, the music from Otabek’s computer finally stops. My shoulders relax when I sigh and shut my eyes. “That wraps up today’s top twenty on the charts! Tune in tomorrow, same time, same place, for more of your favorite hits.” A female voice announces from the radio.

“After the break, Minami’s got you covered with throwbacks and a dedication block every other hour, so stay tuned.” A male voice adds in.

“Thanks for listening to Tiger and Mila in the morning!” She goes on to mention where to follow the duo on social media, cut off by Otabek closing the active window on his screen as I turn to face him.

“Why not an audio book, or something?” I wonder out loud.

Otabek shrugs, peering at me over his shoulder. “I don’t think I’d be able to work and listen well.”

It’d make too much sense for him to listen to literature, or something: we do work in a book store, after all. They make a great deal of sales through digital and audio formats, audio books being at the top of that list. I prefer physical books and being able to hold pages in my hands, which isn’t exactly what the company is known for. My aunt once asked me why I work for something I don’t care about, how I can spend so much time at a place I’m not invested in. Truth be told, accounting sometimes requires me to interact with interesting people and I like working with the various sponsors and authors the store works with; business owners and storytellers are more entertaining than my coworkers and the stray customer I run into now and then. “You and that station of yours.” I mutter under my breath, but Otabek hears the comment and laughs.

“I have my reasons.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

He pauses a minute, smirking at me instead of inputting numbers. “Not everything on the station is like that.”

“Oh?”

Otabek nods, glancing at his watch. “Yeah, next is music from when I was a kid. You were probably a kid at some point, too, right?” I roll my eyes when he laughs. “Later, there’s a jazz show. It’s kind of calming.”

“Calming jazz?”

“That’s right. Slow stuff.” He turns back to his work, shrugging again. “I listened to it before and it helped me fall asleep. It’s relaxing.”

“I could use relaxing.”

He hums in response. “Give it a try after work, then.”

Well, I just might do that; I’ve got nothing to lose but sleep, and as an insomniac, that means very little to me. I manage to get to sleep when most people have been dreaming for hours. It doesn’t bother me much; on occasion, though, my body hits a wall of exhaustion and I deal with it by inevitably passing out for a day or overeating. It shouldn’t be any surprise to me why I feel ravenous: I’ve gotten around twenty hours of sleep this week, and it’s already Thursday. 

The instant I finish my project, I stand and zip on my dark grey hoodie: lunch hour has arrived! While I toss my key card around my neck, I turn back to Otabek. “Going to lunch. Want anything?” I’ve already got my phone and wallet in my pockets; all I need is his response and I’m off.

“Something vegetarian.”

“Well that’s gross.” I scoff on my way out, passing the two other coworkers we share the office with; their desks are set up by the window similarly to mine and Otabek’s. They don’t spare me a glance, absorbed in marketing and social media tasks. I know their names, but I’m not sure if they know mine; I’ve never really spoken at length with either of them. Nobody really talks to Otabek and me. When I leave the office space and step onto the shop’s floor, the strong smell of paper is almost overwhelming but welcome. It reminds me of new adventures and comfortable silence. Unfortunately, the store isn’t that quiet: another coworker and a few patrons are standing nearby, conversing about the numbers on a receipt. None of them look my direction when I pass by, excluding the youngest looking customer who quickly looks away, but I’m not sure why. I guess they’re real occupied and busy. Walking past the rows of bookshelves and whispering people, I’m reminded of high school: I rarely spoke to anybody and no one ever bothered me with menial conversation attempts. Most of my time was spent reading and studying, roaming the library the same way I’m walking through this store, fingers brushing bound spines of hardcovers and paperbacks. When I got to university, I wasn’t as lucky; our library was constantly filled with loud chatter and empty seats harder to find than the end of a rainbow. Those days were more difficult, but I found my dorm room was quiet enough to read to my heart’s content and the library wasn’t too far when I needed more material. These days, I buy from right off the shelves and enjoy my reads after clocking out. When I get to the front door, I stuff my hands in my sweatshirt’s pockets and follow an older couple out of the building, the chiming of the little bell announcing my exit fading quickly as the door shuts.

The clouds from this morning have scattered to the edges of the sky. Even though the sun is shining brightly, I’m grateful that I put my sweatshirt on. A chilly breeze ushers me down the sidewalk, footsteps indistinguishable among the other lunch hour traffic. I’m one of the few people headed away from the heart of downtown but I don’t rush; the cool air feels good on my face. One of the downsides to working in a small office is the lack of fresh air, making every lunch trip a chance to breathe in natural oxygen before finding a place to eat. The place on the left with the striped awning has apparently been around for longer than I’ve been alive; they have decent pizza, but service can be slow. The place down the road, a sandwich shop, has a line all the way out their front door and down the sidewalk; I don’t have time for that. Across the street is a new Chinese place that I tried last week. Honestly, I wasn’t impressed. The staff was nice and everything, but the food didn’t taste great. I’ll probably go back next week and try something else but right now, I want something I know will be good. I think I know just the place, but I’ll have to walk faster: I want time to enjoy my meal.

Picking up the pace gets me to the small Mediterranean restaurant in little time. I’m not the only one in line, but I’m not far from the counter. What is this music they’re playing? It’s vaguely familiar, but foreign at the same time. The moment it’s over, the host recites the station’s number: the station Otabek listens to. I roll my eyes as I get to the counter. I simply can’t escape these radio shows. “Long time, no see.” The cashier smiles.

“This radio station doesn’t bother you, Nico?” I fiddle with the laminated menu resting on the glass countertop, twisting and bending the edges. The last time I was here, Nico had longer, darker hair. His easy smile is exactly the same: slightly tired but obviously honest. He laughs a bit with a shrug.

“Customers like it. You don’t?”

I sigh, glancing down at the menu. “It’s the bane of my existence.” He takes my order without writing it down and invites me to sit at the nearest table. I grab a bottle of water and try not to scrape the chair’s legs against the flooring as I pull it from the table, only making a slight noise against the tile before sitting. In the middle of the table, a standing menu with bright, bold lettering announces the dinner specials for every day of the week. They look interesting, but I have to push the thought from my head. When New Year’s came, I promised myself that I’d only buy takeout for lunch and not for dinner unless invited out. I was trying to make a resolution I could actually follow through with and I don’t really have anyone to go out with, but I didn’t anticipate my own cravings to be so difficult; I’ve been begrudgingly eating out of cans and frozen packages in the months ever since. No, I don’t feel any healthier or anything, but having a goal once in a while is good, probably.

“Order, Seung Gil!” Nico calls minutes later. I nod and leave a tip in the hand-painted jar, taking my leave with the plastic bag in tow. The clouds have decided to congregate overhead again, darkening the daylight just enough for me to notice after taking a few steps. A couple more steps back towards the office and song lyrics I thought I’d forgotten drift out of my mouth, just under my breath. Why is this song stuck in my head? The last time I heard it was several years ago, but…oh, it must’ve been playing on that stupid station!

“Damn music.” I whisper, using my key card to open the back door of the building. The first time I walked through the sales floor with lunch in hand, I was scolded by the cashiers and manager; I think they were hungry. At any rate, I’ve taken to using the door in the alley to get back in so I can eat in peace. The old song lyrics are still on my tongue when I sit at my desk, rummaging through the bag for Otabek’s food. He holds his hands up when I raise the foil wrapped sandwich in his direction, catching it with ease. “Did you want the salad? I want the fries.”

Otabek walks his chair closer to me with a hand outstretched. “Have ’em. I’ll have the salad.” He didn’t really have a choice, honestly, but it doesn’t hurt to be polite once in a while. After splitting up the food, I put my computer to sleep; if I can see work that needs to be done, I won’t be able to focus on my meal. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” Otabek mutters. I hum in response, mouth occupied. “From Nico’s restaurant?” I nod an affirmation. “Did you know his siblings own a club downtown?” I shake my head no. “Yeah, it’s on the main street past all the one-ways. Have you been there?” My only reply is a scoff. This causes Otabek to laugh. “It was an honest question. It wasn’t a joke.”

“If it’s about my social life, it is.”

“You act like you’ve never gone out.”

I shrug, gulping down the rest of my water. “I don’t, really.” Not anymore, anyway. “Especially not to clubs.”

He shrugs, fighting back a smirk. “Really? You strike me as the dancing type.” Instead of responding, I glare and tear into my food. His laugh induces a dramatic eye roll from me and if he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge my response. “I get dragged out all the time. I’m used to it now.” I don’t know much about Otabek’s personal life, but I do know that he has a group of friends who like to party and he has some sort of significant other and a dark silver band around his ring finger. Prying isn’t in my nature so I’ve never asked about that kind of thing. If he’s grown used to something, does that mean he’s grown to like it, too?

“’Used to it.’ Does that mean you like it?”

Again, he shrugs. “It’s alright. Some nights are more fun than others.” Otabek pauses to dress his salad in an oily mess. “I’m definitely staying in tonight, though. This week has kicked my ass.”

We had a secret shopper come by, and all of the floor staff were uptight and snippy; having to be on their best behavior was apparently very stressful, and they made the first three days of the week a dreadful bout of whining, complaining and lashing out at random moments. We don’t know which day the shopper came or who they were, but I’m glad it wasn’t my ass out there. “Same. If I have to hear about teamwork and game faces again, I just might die.”

“No joke.” Otabek laughs before facing his computer. “Tonight is a hot tub night. What about you?”

“Just that radio show.”

The hours pass quickly with a full belly, and the promise of something new later. After clocking out and walking home, I still have some time left before the jazz show starts. I toss my keys, wallet and key card on the kitchen counter. The noise is almost jarring, loud and sudden against the surrounding silence. This level of my building is never noisy; the main level, though, can get irritatingly loud, especially on weekends. I share a wall with my neighbor, connected by the laundry room: I’ve never heard a sound from them, aside from the door opening and closing when anyone comes and goes. Each of my footsteps nearly echoes on the hardwood; I think I should buy a rug or two. My feet hardly make a sound when I reach the carpeting of the hallway, showering before setting my laptop and phone on the coffee table. A worn novel sits beside the computer, cover nearly falling off. While microwaving a meal and grabbing a glass of water, I find some clear tape and settle in on the sofa; the furniture was a gift from my parents who never understood my distaste for the color green. I find the station’s website and allow the commercials to distract me from the quiet, flipping my hood on and pulling the drawstrings a bit. The book cover is simple enough to mend; it won’t win any beauty contests, but I think it speaks volumes about how thoroughly I’ve loved its contents. The microwave dings just as the show begins: “Your evening with Eros is just getting started.” I wasn’t expecting such a voice, laced with sensuality and confidence. Maybe it’s been too long since I’ve been spoken to like that, but I find myself feeling rather flushed. “If you’re in the mood for something smooth that moves with expert rhythm, you’ve come to the right place.” Well, I’ll admit, my jaw drops a little; if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this man was trying to seduce his audience: I don’t think I can be blamed for my reaction. The more he speaks, the more I get used to the soft, husky voice and the warmth in my face finally begins to subside. Getting caught up in Eros’ intro, I’d forgotten about my food. While he continues his spiel, I don’t bother plating dinner: I’m not above eating off of microwaved plastic with disposable utensils. I already have water, but I could use a beer. I try my best to ignore the photos stuck to the fridge, magnets pinning them with the images turned away, and pull a can from the box. It’s a cheap brand I grew to like when I was in university but would never order at a bar. My beer and I get reacquainted with the sofa when the first song starts. This particular tune begins so softly that I have to stop chewing to hear it.

“So quiet.” I mutter. If only the music was this quiet when Otabek listens! Before I can turn it up, a bold bass joins the party, accompanied by an insistent saxophone that carries the melody. “Never mind.” I blink away my surprise and sit back, eyes shut. ‘Relaxing’ isn’t how I’d describe this particular song, but I guess I can see why Otabek recommended the show: it’s tasteful, unobtrusive and doesn’t have any whiny singing. The next song is an old standard with an updated twist: it lacks its usual ‘classic’ feel, replaced with an upbeat tempo and a larger rhythm section. Again, not really a lulling tune, but if it makes me tap my feet, how can I complain? If this Eros guy knows what he’s doing, then it could be that he starts his show with livelier songs and will end it with slower selections. It could take all night for me to find that out; who knows how long this show is. I shove another forkful of food into my mouth, picking up my phone to send a quick text to Otabek: ‘Thanks for the radio rec, O…so far so good. Do you know how long this show is?’

I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I pick up my book and extend my legs the length of the sofa, abandoning the phone on the coffee table. When I first started at the bookstore, Otabek had already been there a few months. He seemed grateful to have someone take over accounts so he could focus exclusively on payroll and offered to buy me a beer one weekend as a thank you. At first, I didn’t want to agree; he was a stranger with only a first name and a desk near mine. He seemed harmless enough, though, and I like getting to know new cities. I also like free beer, so we exchanged numbers and went to a nearby happy hour. We’ve gone out a few times since, once to celebrate something Otabek didn’t specify and for a couple of our birthdays. In the four years I’ve worked here, no other coworker has gotten my number, and certainly no one else has bought me a beer. After a few more songs, my phone vibrates on the table: ‘Thought you’d like it! Ends at 2230’

What the fuck is 2230? I reply just that: ‘What the fuck is that? Who uses a 24 hour clock?’ Half past something, I know, but I’m not a soldier; is he? I count on my fingers and roll my eyes, figuring he meant half past ten.

‘Lmao it’s 1030, SG. Simple math. Aren’t you an accountant lol’

Hilarious, really. I exchange my phone for my beer and get back to my book. The only time I get up is to throw away my garbage and refill my water, determined to hear the end of this show. As predicted, the songs become more mellow and calming as the hours pass. “Thank you for spending your evening with Eros.” It surely won’t be the only evening spent this way. He continues to close out his segment, mentioning the next show. “If you’re struggling with a significant other, learning to live with a loss or fighting with family and friends, hang around for a little longer for words of wisdom from your boy P. Chu. Feel free to call in, and maybe he’ll help you on the air.” Eros gives the station’s number before closing out his show with a kissing sound, presumably blowing a kiss at his microphone. I’m kind of sad that the jazz is over, but also irritated that a talk show is part of the station’s repertoire. The nonsensical station Otabek listens to is bad enough, but why do they need some armchair therapist at this hour? I suppose anyone who would call in to such a show would have nothing better to do than be up all night, but I still think it’s sad. I continue reading through the commercial break in order to get to a new chapter, but I don’t reach my goal: the talk show begins.

“Okay, first things first: have you all seen the moon this evening? Gorgeous!” P giggles. The man literally giggles on the air. I don’t think I can roll my eyes more, but the chipper voice continues. “Seriously, go take a look up at the sky. You won’t regret it.” What am I listening to? I can’t even focus on my reading anymore, setting the book on my lap. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve tuned in to listen to P. Chu talk you through your issues. I’ll take calls in a few minutes, but I wanted to give you guys some background on tonight’s topic and why it matters.”

Groaning, I rub my eyes. “Here we go.” I mutter.

“We’re gonna talk about guilt. You know, that nagging at the back of your mind reminding you that you’ve made a mistake? Yeah, that’s guilt. We feel guilty over so many things in our lives. Earlier today, I set my alarm at a decent hour so I could make myself a healthy breakfast, do some cardio and get my grocery shopping done.” P scoffs at himself. “Almost none of that happened. Hit the snooze, chugged some coffee with too many shots and shopped online all afternoon. Even as I’m admitting this, I feel guilt: I should be treating my body right by eating healthy and exercising more often. I should have done things differently. But I didn’t, and now I feel bad about it.” I pick up my book again and attempt to reach the end of the chapter, frowning at the printed words. “Things we do, things we want to do, things we think we do and things we don’t do all cause this heavy feeling to burden us and remind us of why we’re in the wrong. It can’t be helped: a part of the brain feels good about being guilty, like the conscience is proud to know right from wrong.” Is he serious? That can’t be true. His voice is so distracting, I can’t get through this paragraph. “We can correct our behavior and feel good about improving ourselves because guilt reminds us to do so. The only problem is that it can manifest into something ugly and break us down.” Forget it: I throw my book on the table. Clearly I’m not going to get anywhere in this book with this guy explaining why too much guilt is unhealthy for a person; I no longer see any reason to bother trying at this point. I want to hear what kind of people call in, but I’m very close to shutting my computer off instead.

“Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?” I mumble, sitting up straighter so I don’t choke on my water while lying down. Really, it’s irresponsible for some random person who likes talking to advise strangers with personal issues. The only thing that would make this worse was if P referred to himself as a doctor. Deep down, I know this is all ridiculous, but I kind of want to hear what else happens. It’s not like I’m going anywhere: it’ll be hours before I attempt sleep and I have nothing else to do. I could try to read again, but P’s voice would be a distraction. I could shut him up, but then I’d be stuck in silence. I could try to find a similar jazz station to Eros’ show, but the search could take a long time and I’d probably give up after too much trial and error. Sighing, I lie back down with my head against the sofa’s arm. If I get sick of this show, I’ll just shut it off and head to bed early. After all, I should try to overcome my insomnia one of these days instead of putting up with it. Maybe I’ll get used to P’s voice like I got used to Eros’.

“Alright, we have our first caller of the night!” P says in a sing-song voice.

I may have spoken too soon. We’ll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have y'all ever started watching some reality tv show, knowing it’s nonsense, but kept watching anyway? Hahha by the way, don’t forget to follow, favourite, comment and all that good stuff; it helps me know that you're reading and that I’m doing something right XD Most chapters won’t be like this, but I’ll explain that in the next update! Thank you for reading~


	2. Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I forgot to say everyone is aged up, like, six years in this.. .Anyway, as mentioned, most chapters won’t be like the last one: most will be like this one, told from Phichit’s point of view. When I write Seung Gil’s chapters, it’s very close to my own voice so writing Phichit chapters is different and fun XD The tone of this story is very different from my last one; I hope you enjoy it anyway! Also, I’ll be spelling Yuuri with two u’s this time since Yuri Plisetsky shows up more in this one and I don’t want to confuse anybody hahha I appreciate everyone who reads and reviews and such :3

By the time I pull up to the station parking lot, the sun has long since turned in for the night. Days are becoming shorter and shorter, reducing the amount of daylight I see to only a few hours every afternoon. I’m used to it: I’ve had this schedule for three years and lived in this city long before that. The stars aren’t easy to see from this part of town; the lights are so bright that only the moon is visible. A cold gust of wind whips around me as soon as I step outside. “Back off, wind.” I zip my quilted jacket up all the way and rush to the building. My hands fumble through my bag, searching for my wallet in the dark. “Where are you?” I know it’s in here…ah, I’ve found it! I hold it up to the scanner by the door, waiting for the beep of the card reader, and pull the door open to save myself from the autumn breeze. When I worked here during the day, the door was left unlocked; since my hours aren’t the same now, I work with the security system on and only turn it off when I go home. Not to say that this is a dangerous part of town, but if I had to bet on where a crime would be committed in this city, I’d probably bet nearby. I hang my coat up on the rack, stuffing my wallet back into my bag and walk past the front desk. I’m running just a tiny bit late; okay, maybe more than a tiny bit? The red light is on above the booth door: Mr. Eros is still live on the air. As soon as a commercial break comes up, that light will turn off and I can get to work! Since I’m stuck out here, I might as well have some fun. I step over to the window, easily spotting my best friend wearing big headphones at the mic. When he’s live, he sets his glasses aside; he says it helps him get into character, and I say whatever helps him do his job. His warm brown eyes catch mine, glaring through the glass. With a laugh, I wave at him while he wraps up his show. The red light turns off and I make my way to the door. “Evening, Mr. Eros!”

Instead of a warm greeting, I get an eye roll. “Eros is done for tonight. What’s your excuse this time?”

“Yuuri.” I hold my hands up, already on the defense. He puts his glasses back on, but the glare is still around. “I could have sworn that I left my keys on the hook, but when I was leaving, they weren’t there, so I was searching my apartment, up and down and back again, and do you know where I found them?”

There’s the smallest trace of humor in Yuuri’s eyes: at least I’m not in trouble. He scoffs and checks his phone. “Gee, were they in your purse?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “It’s not a purse, it’s a tote bag.” I do have purses, but this obviously isn’t one of them. “And yes, it was in here. How’d you know? You could’ve saved me ten minutes of an endless treasure hunt.”

He smirks, pocketing his phone and folding his arms over his chest. “That thing’s a black hole. Remember when my glasses were in there? I couldn’t even help you look for them.” While we laugh, his phone goes off again. Yuuri smiles at the screen. “My ride’s here.” He gestures over his shoulder. “Commercial’s almost over, so get settled in. And I won’t mention you were late at the meeting tomorrow, but seriously, Phichit? Get here on time.” Yuuri squeezes my shoulder with a nod. I exhale and smile gratefully.

“Thank you. I’ll be on time tomorrow, I promise.”

“Good.” Yuuri returns the smile. “I’ll pick you up then at eleven thirty. If you’re not ready, I’ll leave without you.”

It isn’t a joke, but I laugh anyway as Yuuri walks past me. “Oh really?”

“See you tomorrow!” He waves over his shoulder. I shut the door and get comfortable, resting my bag on top of the mini-fridge. I take my tablet out and find my notes on today’s talking points, taking a deep breath as I adjust my headphones.

The small red light over the door flashes on: time to get to work. “I’m glad you’ve tuned in to listen to P. Chu talk you through your issues tonight! I’ll take calls in a moment, but I wanted to give some background on tonight’s topic so you know why it matters.” I think today’s topic is pretty interesting; I once counselled a group of siblings where this issue was the biggest problem in their relationship. A lot of people can relate, I think. “Envy and jealousy are two very similar things, right? But they aren’t the same thing. When you feel envious, you want something someone else has. When you feel jealous, you’re afraid something will get taken from you.” My next note says to elaborate and spell out the difference. I need an anecdote that will make it easier for my listeners to understand. When in doubt, I talk about myself. “When I was in school, I befriended my roommate pretty quickly.” It’s no surprise that many of my anecdotes involve Yuuri; we’ve been best friends for years and I have a lot of material! “He had these big glasses back then, like, these thick framed geek chic glasses, and I thought he just looked so cute in them. Now, I have perfect vision, so I don’t need glasses or anything, but I wanted to look adorable like him. I envied his nerd glasses, and his cuteness. I mean, we all have that friend we envy, right? Either they have cuteness, smarts, success or something that we want and don’t have.” Now for the jealousy part. “When I’d drag him out to a party, you should’ve seen how many looks he’d get the moment he walked through the door!” I laugh at the memory of Yuuri’s shy charm catching nearly every gaze. “Of course, he never noticed, but it was so easy for strangers to be jealous of their partners and potential partners because they gave their attention to my best friend and not them. Who wouldn’t feel threatened?” I mean, Yuuri can switch to Eros in an instant, so you can’t blame those poor onlookers, but still: my point is made. “So they were jealous. Back to envy: we all feel it now and then. We’re human, and we have wants and needs. When those wants and needs aren’t getting met, it makes us feel a certain way.” Next, I have to explain why we get up in our feelings and why it’s super normal. “When we don’t have something we want, it makes us feel bad about ourselves. We feel insecure and often wallow in this bitterness because we think we should have what we want. It’s not necessarily that we’re upset at them having more, but that we don’t have enough.” My favorite part is next: taking callers! I already see some listeners are on the line, and it’s first come, first serve on this show. “Are any of you having trouble with overcoming envy, or even jealousy? The line’s open and I’m taking your calls.”

My show is the only talk show on the station. It’s been this way for ten years, seven of which I have been the host of. It wasn’t until I got my Master’s that it became something of a therapy session, but we’ve always gotten many listeners. This station is the most popular in this region, so I’m never at a loss for callers. I hit the button to let the first one through. “Hello?”

“Hey!” I smile. “You’re on the air. Who are you tonight?”

These listeners know that when they’re on the radio, it might not be best to give away their real identity. “Um, Struggling, I guess?” The male voice responds. I nod, accepting his alias.

“Okay, Struggling. What brings you here?”

He starts with a sigh, sounding more aggravated than confused. “I don’t…I don’t normally call shows like this, or anything.” That’s what they all say. “But I don’t know how to deal with this and I don’t think anyone would understand.”

How intriguing! “What is it that you’re dealing with, Struggling?”

“I have a problem with my sister.” Struggling scoffs at himself. “It’s stupid, but she…well, we’re really close. We always have been. We used to tell each other everything, but now she doesn’t talk to me as much. I didn’t understand why until my friend, our friend, mentioned that my sister has a girlfriend.” He pauses a moment, and I’m not sure if he knows what to say next.

“Do you think you’re struggling with losing your sister as a confidant, or struggling with her having a relationship?” I won’t even get into her orientation; one thing at a time.

“I guess…both? I mean, she didn’t even tell me! I had to find out through our friend.”

“Do you have any idea why she wouldn’t tell you in person?” I press Struggling, but all he does is sigh. “It could be that she didn’t know how you’d take the news, or maybe she wasn’t sure about the status of it yet.”

“But she always told me about her other relationships! She picked the worst men.”

Hmm. I tap my chin in thought, piecing Struggling’s sibling relationship together. Sister makes bad choices, brother disapproves of choices, sister keeps relationship a secret; sounds like someone was tired of being judged. “Struggling, do you trust your sister’s judgement?”

“What do you mean? She’s brilliant! She doesn’t do stupid things.” Defensive; he’s clearly a protector. “She just…she just likes dumb men.”

“Well, this time it’s not a man.” I chuckle. “Your sister can make her own decisions, right?”

“Of course!”

I wince at his volume, shaking it off. “She may have kept this a secret because she didn’t want you to attack her decision. It may not have anything to do with wanting to keep you in the dark, but rather wanting to learn on her own.”

“She still should have told me. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

I shrug, knowing he can’t see me. “That’s commendable, Struggling, but you’re always going to be her brother. She can turn to you whenever she needs to, but only if you let her know that you’ll always support her and not try to control her choices.” I don’t want him thinking I’m coming for him, so I have to clarify. “As a sibling, you have to allow the other to feel comfortable going to you for help. Feeling jealous of her for leaning on her girlfriend won’t get you anywhere. It’s good to want the best for her, but you also have to trust that she knows how to get that on her own. Does that make sense, Struggling?”

He thinks this over for a minute, huffing out an exhale as though he’s a pouting child. “I guess. It sucks that she doesn’t want to come to me with that, and…I don’t know, I wish she would.”

“If you tell her that you felt left out and sad about being out of the loop, she’ll better understand that you only want what’s best, and that you want to support her. As long as you don’t start with an attitude or anger, the conversation can move forward in a healthy direction.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Tell me, Struggling: now that your sister has a girlfriend to turn to, who do you go to for support?”

This takes longer than I expected; I’d assumed he’d have an answer, but he stays silent almost long enough for me to ask again. “Our friend. Well, my friend. He…he’s a good listener, I guess.”

Oh, he guesses? It sounds like there’s more to this story, but there probably isn’t enough time in the show to get through it all! I find myself smiling, seeing a solution Struggling failed to consider. “Is your sister upset that you have a friend, aside from her, that you turn to?”

“She’s not a jealous person! She’s fine with that.” I give him a second to connect the dots: even if you’re best friends with a sibling, that doesn’t mean you can’t have other friends. “So…I should be fine with her girlfriend.”

“Well, it’s healthy to have other relationships outside of siblings. You’ll always be there for each other, so let that be known and you’ll always have a place to turn to. Okay?”

Struggling makes a sound, sort of like a chuckle and a snort. “Yeah, thanks. That…that helps.”

“Glad to help! Be happy and live your life, Struggling.” As long as I can be of any help, I’ve done my job. I take Struggling off the line and switch to the next caller. “Who else is bearing the burden of envy?” This is the part where my next caller introduces themselves. All I’m getting is dead air. “Hello? Are you still on the line, listener?”

“Hello?”

My shoulders relax. “Yes, you’re on the air. Who are you tonight?”

“What? My name’s Seung Gil Lee, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It takes real effort to not laugh into my mic; I settle for a quiet giggle. “Brave soul, callers typically use a code name to keep their identities safe.”

“Why?”

“It keeps things anonymous, but if you’re comfortable giving out such information, I can’t stop you.” I shake my head; this is clearly a new listener.

“Oh.”

Um, okay then. “Are you a new listener, Mr. Lee?” I smirk, resting my chin in my hand.

“A year. I mean…about a week.”

Very new! “Well, I’m glad to have you on! What brings you here?”

“I want to ask you some questions.” Did he just slur his words?

“Go ahead, Mr. Lee. I’m all ears.” This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a caller who wanted to do all the asking; some people benefit from talking more than others, and I can roll with that.

He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’re talking about?” I immediately frown, confused as hell. My head cocks to one side, and I have no time to actually respond to this. “I’ve been listening to you drone on about this and that for days.” Drone on? Is he joking? “It’s fine if you have an interest in psychology and if you like talking and helping people, or whatever, but—” Mr. Lee hiccups in the middle of his sentence. Do I have a drunk caller on the air? Live, on the air?! My heart thumps in my chest, agitated. “I mean, how can you do this to people? They trust you with their secrets and their problems, and I don’t think you’re even a real doctor! It’s wrong to take advantage of people who are down on their luck. It’s wrong.”

He ceases his rant long enough for me to intervene. “Are those all your questions and concerns?”

“For now.”

“First: yes, I do know what I’m talking about. Second: I’m delighted that even though you have doubts about my credentials, you keep tuning in every night to my show!” I can’t help the grin from forming on my face; if it’s audible, I’m not worried. “Third: I absolutely have an interest in psychology and in helping people; I love helping people. Fourth, and fifth: I’m not taking advantage of anyone, and I’m grateful that my listeners trust me; I couldn’t guide them through their issues if they didn’t. I am incredibly offended that you think so lowly of my listeners, however; they are not all ‘down on their luck’ and they certainly aren’t as naïve as you make them out to be.” I won’t mention what sounds like a drinking problem, but there’s one more thing I have to address. “Last: I never once claimed to be a doctor.”

“At least you’re honest about that.”

“Oh, absolutely, Mr. Lee. I’m not a doctor. But I do have a Bachelor’s degree in counseling as well as a Master of Science in marriage and family therapy with a combined four years of both supervised and independent counseling of families and couples, but as a licensed professional counselor, I cannot say that I’m a doctor.” I don’t know who this guy takes me for, but I am no fool or fraud. Anyone who knows me understands that I will absolutely stand up for myself, should the need arise.

“Oh…well, I didn’t know that.”

I arch an eyebrow, smirking again. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah?”

“Write this down: P H I C H I T C H U L A N O N T.”

“That’s…”

“My name.” I think I’m just about through with this caller. He doesn’t have another remark, so I shrug to myself. “Feel free to look me up if you want to learn more about my credentials, Mr. Lee.” I hope and pray that no other caller tonight will be such a nuisance. I have the next caller ready to go, and my fingers are crossed. Only six more hours to go.

Nearly all of my next callers start out with an apology on Mr. Lee’s behalf; they tell me that he’s envious of my talent and skill, that he needs help, that I’m good at what I do and et cetera. I appreciate them standing with me and lending kind words, but it’s really not a big deal to me and I’ve already put it behind me. Well, for the most part. During my last segment, I take care of my dinner garbage and start packing my things away. After I introduce the next show, a commercial block begins: my cue to go home. I step out of the booth, waving at two of my coworkers. “Hey, good morning, Phichit!” Mila greets me with a bright smile. Her cohost, Yuri, simply nods. He is not to be confused with Yuuri; they’re like night and day.

“Hey guys.” I yawn. “What’s the weather like today?”

Yuri rolls his green tinted eyes. “Cold and windy. Again.”

I sigh, dejected at this forecast. “Great. I gotta go try to catch some sleep. I’ll see you both this afternoon.”

My boss, the station owner, is at the front desk. His eyes follow me like a hawk while he re-ties his long ponytail. “Don’t forget the meeting at noon.” He has this warning tone to his voice, but I haven’t even done anything to warrant that; not yet, anyway. I give him a big smile, turning on the charm with a little wave. “Be there on time.”

“I’m getting a ride with Yuuri. How can I be late?”

“I mean it, Phichit.”

“Me, too!” I laugh, zipping my coat on. “I’ll see you, Ciao Ciao!” Most people call him Celestino, but I’m not most people. When I open the front door, I regret everything: this jacket is not enough to keep me warm in this wind! I rush to my car, rush home and rush to bed. What feels like a second later, I’m up again, staring at my groggy reflection in the mirror. “Five hours is not enough.” I groan, washing my face to wake myself up and clean the smudged liner from around my eyes. I don’t bother reapplying mascara; I slip on a pair of large sunglasses, wrap a huge scarf around my neck and face and hop into Yuuri’s car when he pulls up. “Why is it so windy today?” I shiver in the front seat, straightening up to take a quick selfie: (hashtag) coldbutcute

“The weather’s getting ready for winter.” Yuuri shrugs.

Every year this happens; I should be used to it, but I’m never quite prepared for the windy days of late autumn. From the car, we run into the office so we won’t be in the cold for too long. I laugh when Yuuri trips up and almost pulls me down to the office floor. “Be careful!” I drag him to the breakroom to sit around the rectangular table with the other three. “Sà wàt dee, pêuan.” I greet my coworkers, too tired to be formal. I see Ciao Ciao and Yuri, but no Mila. “Where’s Mila?” I notice that it’s Minami’s show time, but he’s sitting right across from me.

“She’s covering for me.” Minami smiles, stirring his coffee with a straw. He’s roughly the same stature of Yuri, but he has about three times as much energy; he doesn’t even need caffeine.

I nod, and Yuri shrugs. “I’ll fill her in.” He pulls his dark knit hat further over his blonde hair; we may be out of the wind, but it’s still relatively cold in here. His leopard print hoodie is layered under a leather jacket for extra warmth: proof we need to fix the heating of this place. A shudder runs through me, my scarf having fallen away from my neck.

“Ciao Ciao, can we please get the heater fixed?” I bat my lashes at our boss; he’s not amused.

Luckily, I have my best friend to back me up! “Yeah, it’s pretty cold and it’s not even winter yet.” Yuuri adds.

“I’m freezing to death in here.” Yuri scowls, burying his face in his coat.

Minami just sips his coffee; Celestino sighs. “I’ll look into it.”

“Oh, Yuuri: I listened to some of your show when I went home.” Minami pipes up with a small smile. “You had a really good set around seven!”

Yuuri’s face turns pink; he's a little shy when discussing his show when off the clock. “Thanks.”

“He better be good.” Yuri mutters. “That’s our second most listened to show.”

Mine is ranked last, but only because it's at an odd hour; when I first started out, I had Yuuri's time slot. I mean, I think I’m still as good as back then. Frowning, I recall a certain comment from last night: I ‘drone on.’ Do I really? “Do any of you think I talk too much?” The blank stares I receive should be answer enough, but I pout anyway. “I mean on my show.”

“Your show is only talking.” Yuri rolls his eyes. “That’s all you do.”

“I listen, too!”

“Maybe you could listen more?” Minami offers, tentative.

Ciao Ciao flips through his notes, stuck to a clipboard. “Or shorten your intros to give more callers air time.” My jaw drops as I lean towards him, just to make sure I heard him correctly.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

My boss sighs, setting his notes down. “Phichit, I'm not criticizing you. It was only a suggestion, and you’re the one who asked. It might be something you can try, and if you don’t like it, you can go back to how you normally do your show. Now, can we start this meeting?”

It turns out that we’re still the top radio station in the area, but our overall social media presence needs work. Being the selfie snob that I am, and the last one Celestino scolded, I’ve been given the task of pestering my coworkers to post at least five times a week: two selfies, a work pic and two station promo pics. I’m also told to encourage my callers to follow up on their issues, but that’s not really in my control. I take notes on my tablet, realizing that my vision is slightly unfocused. Am I honestly that tired? Well, I’m yawning, so I guess I’m sleepier than I realized. When our boss is satisfied with the meeting, he excuses himself from the room. I sigh, resting my forehead on the table. “I need sleep.”

“Well, you’ve got all afternoon.” Minami pats my shoulder on his way out. “I’ll see you all later!”

We say our goodbyes shortly before Mila arrives. “Who’s hungry? I’m buying lunch!” She announces. I turn to look at her, yawning in place of a response.

“Starving.” Yuri sighs. “Let’s go. Are you two coming, or not?” He asks Yuuri and me.

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Yuuri’s thumbs fly over his phone’s keyboard. “Phichit?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll drop you off first, then.” Yuuri turns to the other Yuri who's busy tugging Mila’s sleeve out the door. “Text me where and I’ll meet you guys.”

“Sure thing.” Mila pushes Yuri in front of her. “We’ll get something for Minami and Celestino, too.” She waves with a grin. “Sweet dreams, Phichit!”

Yuri’s grumpy voice can be heard from the hallway. “Let’s go already!”

I follow Yuuri to his car just as soon as he can pry me from the breakroom chair. Not that it’s particularly comfortable, but my ass is tired and standing isn’t high on my list of things to do at the moment. I stretch in the passenger seat, careful not to block Yuuri’s vision while he’s driving. “I feel like I didn’t sleep. I had such a weird night.” I adjust my scarf, not wanting to sound like I’m mumbling.

“You didn’t sleep well because you had a weird night, or you had a weird night because you didn’t sleep well?”

It takes me a second or two to comprehend his question. “Oh.” I blink a few times, shaking my head. “No, I had a weird night and then hardly slept. I’ve had so many callers in my career, and I’ve never had one like last night.”

“What happened?” Yuuri frowns. I pat his shoulder; he worries too often.

“It’s nothing serious, hon.” I reassure him. “This guy called, and he started asking me if I knew what I was talking about and like, why I was claiming to be a doctor when I’m not.” Now I’m frowning, too. “He was acting like I was posing as some kind of clinical therapist, and said it’s wrong of me to take advantage of people by pretending to help.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Since when have you been claiming to be a doctor?”

“Never!” I turn to him. “I don’t know why he came at me like that. It sounded like he might’ve been drinking, but still: what the hell?”

Yuuri shrugs. “No idea. Did you correct him?”

“Thoroughly.” I sigh. “I’m not really upset, or anything, but it was so random. People can be so bizarre sometimes, I swear.” My other listeners were right there to stand up for me; remembering that makes me smile. “Pretty much all of my callers after that apologized for him and were really sweet. Some of them even thanked me for being so open and available to them.” Even if my friends weren’t around, I certainly felt loved.

Yuuri smiles at me, eyes bright. “That’s because they know you’re a good person. You’d never lie to anyone.”

“It’s really more trouble than it’s worth.” I laugh. Lying is so messy and cruel; I have no time for that. Once at my apartment parking lot, I give Yuuri a hug. “Thanks for the ride. Have a good lunch, okay? Don’t get Minami anything with onions or red meat; he’s going through another phase.” I smirk, reminding him of our flighty coworker. His current phase also involves his bangs being dyed red. I mean, it’s cute, but it probably won’t last. Yuuri nods.

“Got it. Go get some rest, P.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice: I’m back in my bed, pajamas on and makeup off, in mere minutes. I have laundry to do, breakfast to make, dinner to pack, pets to feed, clothes to sort, three miles to run and a shower to take before going back to work in eight hours. Is it doable? Absolutely. Do I want to do any of it? Not today. I pull my plush comforter over my head, adding to the darkness my blackout curtains provide, and bury myself further into the bed. With a sigh, I shut my eyes and embrace the drowsiness I’ve been fighting all morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, this is also on FF.net and I can be found on Tumblr as thefloralfox; I read comments on Thursdays and update on Mondays :D You can always HMU here, there, wherever hahha Also, Phichit said ‘hello, friends' in Thai, being informal and slightly impolite XD Oh, and keep an eye on Phichit's callers; you might recognize them! Hope you liked this chapter, and keep an eye out for the next one in a week~


	3. Positivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a SeungChuChu fic, so I think they need more interaction. Don’t you? I also think I need more hamsters. Oh, fun fact: I used to have dwarf hamsters; they were the cutest, but their breeding got out of hand.. .the population exceeded 100 and, um, that was the end of my hamster days! ANYWAY hahha it’s time for the third chapter!

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve gotten more listeners in the week since shortening my introduction every night. That’s fine, if not a little bruising to my ego, but whatever; at the end of the day, it’s not my station: I just work here. Tonight, I’m keeping things positive and helping my listeners look on the bright side. “No matter how small, there’s always something to look forward to and be grateful for. It’s all just a matter of focusing on that positive and putting it all into perspective.” It’s about time for another caller and a water break. “Our next caller is live on the air.” I pull my cardigan sleeves on, using it as intended instead of as a shawl. No, the heating still hasn’t been fixed, but I’m managing as best as I can.

“Hi there!” A kind voice speaks a little too softly.

“Hello and welcome. It’s a little hard to hear you, dear. Could you speak a little louder?”

The caller laughs. “Oh, sorry! Is this better?”

“Yes indeed.” Straining my ears can wear on me very quickly. “Who are you tonight, and what brings you here?” I take this opportunity to drink deeply from my water bottle. During my next commercial break, I’ll have to refill it. On my very first show, I didn’t realize how quickly I’d lose my voice without water; I almost had to step out in the middle of an anecdote. Lesson learned, right?

“I guess I’m Lonely. I’ve been in a relationship for three years, two where we lived in the same city but it’s been a year since they had to relocate for work.” Long distance relationships suck so much ass, but I’m pretty sure Lonely didn’t choose this path for fun. “We can call and text, but the internet there sucks so there’s no Skyping, or anything. We’re also in different time zones, so sometimes it’s hard to have a good conversation.” He sighs, slightly shaky. “I’m sorry, I’m trying not to get emotional, but it’s really hard for me to talk about.”

This poor guy! He sounds so heartbroken. “There’s no need to censor your emotions. This is a safe place, Lonely.”

He takes a moment to compose himself. “Thanks. Um, so, it’s just been really difficult and I hate that I can’t see him. It’s not like I don’t trust him, or think we can’t work through all this, but I miss him. I miss seeing him and being around him. That’s normal, right?”

“It’s entirely normal to miss someone you love, especially if you’re used to being with them often.” I’m not only speaking from experience; humans don’t like change, like, ever.

“I don’t know how to do this, I guess.”

I’m not sure what he means. “Be in a long-distance relationship, or cope with being apart?”

“Maybe either?”

If there’s any way for me to avoid mentioning my failed long-distance relationship, I’m all for it. However, I’m not sure if Lonely can understand what I’m about to say without my anecdote. My listeners tend to identify more when I can relate to them, but this story is not a fun one to tell. “Well, it sounds cliché, but communication is really the key to making it work. It sounds like you two have that down. Is that right, Lonely?”

“I think so. We try to talk as much as we can, and it's usually positive.”

I nod to myself, shoulders relaxing; it looks like I won’t have to open a box of dishonesty and unbalanced compromise tonight! “You’re lucky to have that, you know. Would you say that you two are strong communicators? Saying what you mean and telling each other what’s important?” I drain the rest of my water, quietly clearing my throat after.

“Yeah, we are.” Lonely sort of laughs. “We’re best friends. We tell each other everything.”

“Don’t ever stop that, okay? That’s vital.” That’s not an exaggeration: I’ve dealt with countless couples who forgot how to converse openly and honestly with each other and it only leads to disaster. Well, unless all parties correct their behavior with the best intentions. “If you have a strong relationship, you can tackle any distance. I understand that the physical and tangible aspect of being away is hard; sometimes it feels impossible, and it won’t always be easy. I can guarantee that, Lonely, but are you ready for the good news?”

Lonely laughs again, sadness almost entirely gone from his voice. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“You’ve got this.” I smile. “You have a person who loves and cares about you enough to stay committed through this. When you’re feeling sad and alone, remember why you’re together and why you want to see him again. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah.” He exhales. “Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you, P.”

“Do you feel any better, Lonely? It isn’t a walk in the park, but you have to think positive and remember that you have plenty to be happy about.” Wallowing is dangerous; it can be self-destructive and disrupt relationships. It’s okay to have short pity parties and recognize your unhappiness; be sure to wrap it up and tie a bow on it, though. “Remember, being positive comes after acknowledging the negative.”

While Lonely thinks this over, I clear my throat again, trying to muffle the sound. “Right. I do feel better. I’m going to tell him, too, if you don’t mind. He acts strong, but I know he’d appreciate your advice, too.”

“Feel free to spread the positivity!” I chuckle, checking the next caller. Hopefully, they’ll be brief and I can finally cut to a commercial. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Gracias! Have a good night.”

Time for another caller. “Looking on the bright side doesn’t come naturally to everyone. It takes a conscious effort to be positive, but practice makes perfect.” I hit the key to bring the person to the air. “Good evening! Who are you tonight?”

A strange pause is all I hear. There are times when calls drop or a wrong number gets through; all I can do is wait for a response. “Uhhh…” Not really an answer. “I guess…Sorry?”

This voice sounds vaguely familiar. I frown, trying to place the voice, but come up empty. “What brings you here, Sorry?”

“About a week ago, I called a certain radio show. I…I was in a bad place.”

Pump the brakes! Am I talking to who I think I’m talking to? I blink a few times, fighting back a smirk I’d probably classify as smug if I could see it. “Is that so? Can you tell me, Sorry, why it is that you were in such a bad place last week?”

Another pause. “Not…not right now.”

What the hell does that mean? I shrug, taking it as a simple no. “I respect that. Can you elaborate more on what brings you here tonight, to my positivity show?”

“Oh, right.” He clears his throat. “I was wondering how to, um, stay positive?”

“Do you often think negatively?”

“Only recently.”

Hmm; that’s somehow not the answer I was expecting. “Does your negativity often cause you to act uncouth?”

“It did last week.” Was that a laugh? That almost sounded like a laugh!

“Can you tell me more on what happened last week, Sorry?”

I know exactly what happened last week, but if he’s really sorry, he’ll prove it. And, I mean, he deserves to be teased a tiny bit; I won’t give him too hard of a time. “I can.” He sighs. “Do I have to?”

How I manage to suppress my laughter is nothing short of a miracle. “It would help me get a better understanding of your problem, but I won’t force you.”

“Fine. I was rude with a stranger.”

“Did this stranger provoke you?”

“No.”

“But you were in a bad place at that point?”

“Yeah.”

Okay, maybe I shouldn’t drag this out; it doesn’t sound like he’s having as much fun with this as I am. “Sometimes it’s hard to step out of our own shoes, but the way we act affects those around us; even strangers. While it may not seem like it matters, acting out because of your negativity can hurt people. Even strong people can get their feelings hurt. It’s healthy to acknowledge your unhappiness, but lashing out at others won’t help you feel positive. Whatever you did last week, know that it happened out of circumstance and you don’t have to be rude to strangers every time you wake up on the wrong side of the bed.” Not the most professional advice I’ve given, but I’d be lying if I said his comments weren’t offensive. “Does that make sense, Sorry?”

He sighs again, this time louder. “Yes, it makes sense.”

“Does that help?” I allow myself to laugh, just a little.

“I guess maybe you know what you’re talking about.”

“Now it’s a maybe?” This individual has got to be testing me; either he’s playing right along, or he’s absolutely clueless. Either way, I laugh louder than I mean to.

“Okay.” That’s definitely a laugh on his end! “You know a thing or two.”

Resting my elbows on the desk, I cup my face in my hands with a grin. “Aww, thank you for your honesty! It doesn’t hurt to try and be positive, does it?”

“Not this time.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help, an—”

“Wait!”

I pout, confused about what more there is to discuss. “Yes?”

“Do you…” Typically, being faceless and nameless helps my callers open up and say whatever’s on their minds. This caller is different: it’s like he’s speaking face to face with his identity on display. I’m guessing he’s not much of a social butterfly. “Do you think I owe this stranger an apology?” Most of those listening won’t realize this, but the question is so personal, I’m not sure what to say. We’re strangers; there’s nothing to really mend, and yet he’s making an attempt to do exactly that. “Because I do feel bad. I wasn’t nice.”

A small smile tugs at my mouth, pleasantly surprised by his revelation. “Apologies should only be used if you’re truly sorry. If you really regret what happened, then apologizing can be healing for all parties involved.”

“In that case: I’m very sorry.”

“That’s big of you.” I nod, removing the lid from my water bottle. “I’m sure that stranger, if they’ve been listening, forgives you.” I wish I could wink so he knows his message is received, but oh well. Actually, maybe there is a way I can let him know. “We have to go to a commercial, but stay on the line, Sorry, so I can make sure you’ve been helped, okay?”

“Um, yeah. Okay.”

“Great! Stick around, and I’ll take more of your calls. Be right back.” I watch the red light by the door shut off, switching the call to the inactive line. “Are you there, Mr. Lee?”

“So you do know who I am. Yeah, I’m here.”

Was there really any doubt? “Thank you for apologizing. That really was kind of you.”

“I was an asshole, so…I owed you.”

“Did you need any other help? Like, maybe about why you were in such a mood?” Oh no: he’s not saying yes. I hope I haven’t overstepped! “If not, that’s okay. It’s just that I’m around and can listen if you need to talk about heavy shit.”

Another moment passes. “I’m not going to talk about that.” Yikes. Okay, probably should’ve left the conversation on a good note. As I open my mouth to excuse my prodding, he sighs again. “But maybe you can help with something else.” My jaw snaps shut, shocked, not for the first time this evening. “Like, maybe, not being such a pessimist?”

That I can do! I nod, standing from my chair. “Absolutely. Let me give you my number, you can reply with your name, and we’ll go from there. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Done and done: I tell him my personal number, end his call and run to refill my water. If I don’t do this now, I won’t get another chance for another half hour, and I’m not about to answer calls with a raspy voice. By the time I get back in the chair, I have a new message on my phone: ‘Seung Gil Lee’

I was expecting more than simply his name, but that works. Laughing, I text him back: ‘Phichit Chulanont. Nice to meet you, Mr Lee :D’ I set my phone aside, gulping down more water before resuming the show. “Welcome back! We’re still talking through some issues with P. Chu. Tonight, we’re looking at the glass as being half full.” Oh, my phone has another message. I don’t read it, but I check who it’s from: Seung Gil. Does he want a conversation right now? He knows I’m busy! “When I was first counseling, I didn’t know how to fully separate myself from the problems and emotions of my families and couples. Sometimes, I’d wake up and this heavy sadness would wash over me when I’d remember what I’d have to listen to later that day.” This is a true story. My first ever couple had a history of abusing each other verbally; it was too much to handle, and I cried myself to sleep when I went home that night. It’s a fine line to care, but not become emotionally attached. “I had to learn to wake up and remind myself that it’ll be a good day as long as I’m willing to make it so.” Another message crosses my phone’s screen. Okay, okay: I’ll bite. Let me take my next call first. I welcome them, finally reading the words in my inbox:

‘We’ve met before…’ followed by: ‘If you meant formally, then yeah, it’s nice to meet you.’ I guess I’ll reply while my caller is mentioning their troubles. Unlike many people, I’m a master at multitasking. What to say, though? He hasn’t really steered this conversation. ‘This isn’t a doctor/patient thing is it?’

I’m currently not employed as a counselor; it’s not easy work, so I’m on a break. Helping people is too rewarding for me to let go of fully, so I’ll get back to it at some point. ‘Took a break from counseling 2 years ago…maybe I’ll go back next year. Helping ppl is the best :3 You need to talk? We can talk as friends’ I add a thumbs up emoji, too.

Seung Gil replies very quickly. ‘Are you as upbeat in real life as you are on the air? Seems tiring.’

If he thinks this is upbeat, he must live a very mellow life. ‘I’m not a mopey person lol I don’t get my 8 hrs for nothing!’ I’ve been told that when people first meet me, they feel compelled to smile. Honestly, of all things to be known for, infectious happiness is fine by me! While my caller and I continue a conversation, my phone stays silent. It isn’t until I’m concluding the next caller’s discussion that my phone goes off again.

‘I’m going to try sleeping. Any suggestions on going to bed/waking up positive?’

I wonder if he works early. He’s going to bed late for someone who has somewhere to be in the morning, but to each their own. ‘List things you’re grateful for at night, like counting sheep. When you wake up you can list things you can change for the better that day! I hope this helps :D’

Again, he replies really quickly. ‘Same. Thanks, man. I really am sorry for before and appreciate the advice.’

Well, at least he’s humble. ‘Np! Have a good night, Mr Lee~’

No reply follows. It’s just as well: I’ve got work to do for a few more hours. There are only a few nights when my shift seems to last an eternity instead of six and a half hours; those nights are typically when I missed out on sleeping or ran too many miles. Tonight, time flies by and I’m face to face with Yuri and Mila before I know it. “You look happy! Did something happen?” Mila asks me outside the booth. I can barely see Yuri, wrapped up in a thick scarf with a hat pulled down just above his eyes.

I laugh instead of answering her right away. “Is that you, Yuri? I can’t see you under all of your grandpa’s winterwear.” 

His response is to shove me aside. “Fuck off.” 

“Just another night.” I laugh again, ignoring all the attitude. Most of Yuri’s comments should be taken with a grain of salt. “I look happy?”

Mila nods. “Yeah, but I guess you always look that way.” She rolls her striking blue eyes, smirking.

I shrug, heading the opposite direction. “Guess so! Have a good one, okay? Make sure the tiger doesn’t freeze to death.” We share a laugh and I wave at Ciao Ciao manning the front desk. He, of course, can’t let me leave that easily, waving me over. “Morning, Ciao Ciao. How are you?” I lean an elbow on the polished wood.

“I’m doing well. How does a fan day sound?” Fan days are special shifts that don’t involve taking any callers; I read letters, emails, Tweets and stuff and talk about how super it is to help strangers and to hear how I’ve helped them. It’s actually really fun; it’s been a while since I’ve done a fan show, but it’s kind of late notice.

“Wait, in a few days? I’d need to screen everything before going live.”

“I mean next week’s Friday.” Oh, duh! My bad. “Sound good?”

I step away from the desk with a brand new smile, nodding at my boss. “Very! I’ll get organized tomorrow.” When I blow a kiss, Celestino bats it down with a wicked grin; he makes me laugh when I least expect it! “Fine then! See you later.” Once in the car, I don’t drive home, opting to buy myself an obscenely large hot chocolate with extra whip and too much cinnamon first. I post a selfie with the drink taking up most of my camera’s view: (hashtag) treatyoself. The warm drink in my belly makes it easier to fall asleep when I get home and hop in bed. I guess there’s something about the extra warmth that makes me feel cozy and comfortable enough to get drowsy.

My alarm wakes me just after two in the afternoon. I stretch my arms over my head, yawning loudly. Only recently, my neighbors moved out, allowing me to be as loud as I want whenever I want. Their plumbing is screwed up, or something, so nobody can move in for some time. Any excuse to let the radio fill my apartment! I pick up my phone to play some music, scanning the series of notifications, making a note of a few VIP texts: mainly Yuuri, coworkers and assorted family members; Yuuri’s confirming plans and my family’s checking up on me. Oddly enough, there’s a message from Seung Gil Lee: ‘I got five full hours of sleep.’ Well, that sucks. I was kind of hoping that my advice would actually help him in some way. I reply to the others first and start up my music, walking over to my hamster home. To many, it’s a clear glass box with wacky, colorful tubes sticking out of it. To my darling hamsters, however, it’s a paradise! They spend all night climbing through the tunnels and hiding food in their rooms and hideouts, sleeping under piles of bedding in a little pile of fur during the day. The lightest colored one, Khing, is a sleepy one, currently still curled up with tightly shut eyes. The darkest colored one, Maphrao, is very active and spends the most time in the hamster wheel. The other, Pheuak, is having a snack in one of the bright plastic rooms. I take a few pictures of them, going back to my texts: Seung Gil’s message is from hours ago. I wonder if he’s able to respond right now.

‘That’s not many…any idea why?’

Before I can start posting hamster pics, a reply comes through: ‘It’s the most sleep I’ve gotten in months. You really do know what you’re talking about I guess.’

Here we go again! I find myself rolling my eyes but smiling anyway. He may be oddly sassy, but at least he’s amusing. ‘A compliment from the mysterious Mr Lee? How lucky am I lol’ When I pop the top of the cage off, Pheuak climbs aboard my hand. We settle on my bed, filtering and cropping my newest pictures. My shoulder is a very comfortable hamster perch, by the way: Pheuak isn’t the only one who likes to chill there.

‘You think I’m mysterious?’

Um, considering I only know his name and that he texts in full sentences, hell yeah. There’s really no question about it. With a chuckle, I reply: ‘I only know your name so…lol’ I turn to my hamster, tiny nose twitching in interest. “Should we get something to eat? I feel like napping, but I should really get going on the day. Maybe I should shower.” Then again, I’ve been meaning to do intense cardio; I’ve been running instead because hardcore cardio is terrible.

I don’t have time to think over my dilemma: another text pops up. ‘What do you want to know?’

Hmm. What do I want to know about my new friend? I want to ask why he has nobody else to talk to and why he’s a grump, but those don’t seem appropriate right now; maybe if I get to know him better, I’ll get to the bottom of it, but right now I’ll go easy on him. ‘K. How old are you? Where are you from? Have you always lived in the city? Why did you call my show? You can ask stuff too lol’ I mean, really: he didn’t even think I had experience, so who knows why he bothered calling in. “Let’s go start the day, Pheuak. I can’t be lazy this early.” If I start out slacking, there’s no way I’ll be productive at any point after. The hamster goes back in the cage and I make my way to the kitchen to start up some tea. While it brews, I go through my mundane bathroom routine, changing into workout clothes; the least I can do is head down to the apartment’s gym for treadmill time. By the time I’m pouring a cup of spiced black tea, a new message awaits.

‘I’m 28, born in South Korea. I’ve lived in this city for four years, so no. The first time I called was because I was in a bad mood and tired of hearing your uninformed advice. The second time I called was because I felt bad about assuming you were uninformed.’

Most people hate admitting they’re wrong; Mr. Lee is an interesting specimen. If he hated the show, why was he still listening? ‘Why listen? Why feel bad?’

At first, I’m not sure if he’ll get what I mean; like, why did he continue to listen to my show and why did he feel bad about how he acted if he thought I was a fraud? A quick response stomps that concern faster than I can reach the bottom of my cup. ‘I was an asshole for no reason and nobody deserves to be treated like that, especially in front of an audience. That’s not who I am, and I needed to apologize.’ That doesn’t answer my first question. Maybe he didn’t see it, but I’m still curious!

‘So…why did you keep listening? You said you were listening a week then called later…’

‘If I’m being honest, I don’t know.’ Oh, for real? I guess I was expecting something more. Not that I’m particularly captivating, but it’d be nice to have an impact. ‘I guess it was nice to have a voice in my apartment when I got home.’

That may be the sweetest comment I’ve ever gotten. It may not be about my show or its contents, and it may not be intended to make me smile, but heaven help me, I’m grinning like a clown. My heart even speeds up, thumping against my chest. I don’t even know what to say, but I have to thank him for the flattery. I set my mug in the sink, stretching one leg against the counter and let my fingers fly over my keyboard. ‘Of all the voices you could pick lol I’m soo flattered :)))) What a compliment!’ I switch to my other leg, the smile sticking around for my entire stretching session. It’s so weird to have a fan who doesn’t really even have an interest in what I say, but I’ll take it. So far, I have no reason to believe he’s lying or exaggerating, and he’d have nothing to gain by being phony; I’m taking him at his word.

‘Well, you’re on after Eros, so I just leave it on the station…ha, just kidding. I do enjoy his show but I like yours, too.’

In spite of myself, I laugh at his attempt at humor. It’s shockingly endearing; it’s like he’s not afraid to be strange, and that’s refreshing. ‘Lmao can’t compete with Eros XD Glad you stick around Mr Lee!’

‘You can call me Seung Gil, you know.’

‘And you can call me anytime lol or Phichit’

He doesn’t reply as quickly. I should switch my phone so I won’t be distracted with notifications before I head to the gym. Oh, a new text! ‘Alright, Phichit. How old are you? Where are you from? Have you always lived in this city? Do you like animals and/or bubble tea?’

I laugh again, delighted at his questions. So random, but much more interesting than running on a human hamster wheel! ‘Also 28, moved here from Thailand when I was a kid, know this city like the back of my hand lol I adore animals! My fave bubble tea is honeydew :) You?’ This conversation is vastly more entertaining than I anticipated. He’ll have to stop replying at some point, right? Then I’ll do my workout. I see no harm in that, but bite my bottom lip: there’s a good chance I’ll do nothing productive today.

‘I also love animals. I like lychee with rainbow jelly.’

Rainbow jelly! That’s the option a lot of little kids take. I won’t judge Seung Gil for this, but I’m definitely going to tease him. As I type out a reply, I come to terms with my fate. I can always go for a run after work, right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say ‘gracias’ instead of ‘thank you’ so often, I’ve forgotten that it’s Spanish hahha Like, I say rando Spanish words and phrases without even realizing I’m not speaking English. I’m LatinX, so it’s not that weird, but still XD In other news, the next update is lighthearted; if that’s your thing, then you’re in luck! Have a good week, y’all :D


	4. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll learn more about Phichit in this chapter, like his history and stuff. If you squint, you’ll learn more about Seung Gil, too hahha This update is mostly dialogue, and it was actually not supposed to be that way, but I couldn’t help myself XD Unlike my last fic, this one moves along quickly and spans over a longer time period; I apologize if it seems like events are too hasty or rushed and hope you’ll have fun reading!

Over the last few days, I’ve gotten used to waking up to at least one text from Seung Gil. I asked him if he was often alone or bored on the second day, slightly confused by his behavior; I mean, I was also a little happy to talk to him more, but we’ve never even met and surely he has other friends. He told me that he simply likes talking to someone honest and unbiased who doesn’t make him feel like a ghost. When I asked what that last part meant, he changed the subject; I never pressed it again. I just finished making a run to the grocery store, settling for making it a solo mission now that Yuuri’s getting ready for work. While I put things in cupboards and fridge shelves, I get the first text I’ve gotten in a couple hours. ‘Still there? Work got busy.’

Rather than put everything down to text, I finish my task first, then pick up my phone. ‘Gotta make lunch and dinner lol’ I don’t know what to eat now, let alone what to make for later. I’m not in the mood for cooking, but I did just buy new groceries. I tap my chin in thought.

‘Lunch and dinner?’

Yes, I have to make both now. If I don’t pack food for work now, I probably won’t do it at all; I like to do things once and not go back later. ‘Yeah lol I’m hungry and need to pack for work. Dinner is at 2’ What I should do is make enough for both meals…yeah, that sounds good. I pull ingredients from the fridge, settling on spicy pork with rice. I’m not the best cook, but I’ve never burned anything or given anyone food poisoning; I think that speaks volumes about my abilities!

‘Right, that makes sense. What are you making?’

This would be so much simpler if I didn’t have to switch from cooking to typing. We’ve never called each other, but there’s a first time for everything. I send a pig emoji with my message: ‘Would you mind facetiming? Need to be hands free’

‘Alright, give me a sec.’ Perfect! The familiar ring chimes a moment later. On the screen is the darkened image of my new friend, a face I've never seen before. His hair is dark and messy, hidden under a hood; in the dim lighting, I can’t tell what color his eyes are, only that they’re dark, too, and intense. He has earbuds in, and it looks like he’s walking downtown: I recognize the storefronts. “I’m walking from work.” Seung Gil mutters. “Was it supposed to snow today?” The question doesn’t sink in; not at all, but I think it only makes sense when I'm distracted. His skin is practically glowing, pale in the light and not at all what I expected to see. Who knew I was speaking to such a beautiful man? I wonder why he’s frowning all of a sudden. “Hello? Phichit?”

Oh, crap! My jaw snaps shut, an embarrassing laugh falling from my lips. I settle my phone in a place that he can see me and I can still work on dinner. “Sorry, I’m here.” He asked something, didn’t he? “Um, what did you ask?”

“Is it supposed to snow?” His eyes are mostly directed at the path in front of him, rather than at the phone. It might be better that way: he won’t notice me staring.

“No, I don’t think so.” I blink a few times, returning to my cooking prep. “So, you walk from work? What do you do?” If I don’t focus, I’ll end up cutting a finger instead of a vegetable. Seung Gil zips his hoodie up further, pulling a lanyard from underneath to wave it around.

“I work accounts payable and receivable at the bookstore.”

“You just walk around downtown with a lanyard that says your workplace?” I scoff. Downtown isn’t dangerous, but I wouldn’t want to advertise where I spend my days there.

“What do you mean?”

Shaking my head, I decide to not judge Seung Gil too harshly; he seems to lack some street sense. “People will know where you work. What if they want to mug you, or something?” It sounds crazy, but I’ve heard of crazier in this city. I’ve lived here long enough to know that basically anything is possible!

He shrugs, not bothering to look at the phone. “I’ve got nothing worth taking.”

“If you say so.” I laugh. “Do you always walk from work?”

“Yeah.” Seung Gil nods. “Parking around here sucks. Don’t live too far away, either.”

Parking downtown is nearly impossible. It makes me grateful to have reserved parking at the station lot. “That’s good. Do you like your job?”

“I can’t imagine going somewhere every day to do something I hate.”

Hm; I guess that answers that. “Can I ask you something?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” His eyes dart to the phone, a tiny trace of a smirk on his lips. The expression is absurdly adorable, causing my heartbeat to accelerate.

I roll my eyes when his words sink in: such a smartass. “Whatever! Did you always want to be an accountant? Did you move here for work, or did you have family here? Oh, and why aren’t you dressed warmer? Haven’t you gotten used to winter here?” I don’t want to sound like a mom-friend, or anything, but I can see puffs of his breath and he’s not even wearing a coat or scarf. He sort of laughs, mostly just exhaling forcefully.

“It’s not winter yet, and not that cold. I have a jacket, but it’s at home. I like the weather here.” His eyes lock on mine, only briefly. “I don’t really know anyone here, but I’m fine with that. I always had a way with numbers, so yeah: I’ve been a mathematician for years.”

Nodding, I continue cooking before responding. “Gotcha. Wanna ask me anything?”

Seung Gil takes a moment to think this over. I find a plate and a reusable container, setting them to the side for later use. “How did you get into the counseling thing, and how long have you been doing it?”

“Oh, there’s a story for you.” I smile, starting the rice. I lean on the counter, chin in hand. “Growing up, I was the one people turned to. My friends had an issue with another friend, they cried on my shoulder, vented to me, asked me for help. Something about me just screams at people: ‘talk to me.’” I laugh, noticing the ease in Seung Gil’s face; he likes being told stories, I’ve noticed. “So people have always felt comfortable talking to me, and it made me feel good to be able to help them. I gained a lot of friends that way throughout school, and decided to try and make a career out of it.” His eyes are on mine again, shining with interest. “I learned a lot about psychology in university, and finished getting my degrees by the time I was twenty two. Then I had my supervised sessions.” My smile falters slightly at the memories. If I had to pick one word to describe those years, I’d say ‘raw.’ Seung Gil blinks at me, a curious pout forming. “You can take all the psych classes and read up about all the traumas a human can go through, but nothing can prepare you for the actual cases you'll have.”

“You were just thrown right in?”

“It’s the best way to learn.” I shrug. “I just…I care so much about people, and I didn’t know how to draw the line between work and my own life. I got too attached and took their problems home with me. It’s hard not to think about child neglect and spousal abuse at night when the whole day is spent talking about just that.” I’d overlooked the degree of pain I’d have to confront while in the process of helping people.

“Yeah, that makes sense. Hang on a second.” Seung Gil juggles his phone and keys, stepping in his apartment building. “Let me just get inside.” He walks up a staircase, stepping into a darkened room and switches a light on. While he takes his headphones out and walks forward, my breath gets caught in my throat again. This man is seriously gorgeous! In the lighting, I can see his eyes are a mix of dark brown and grey and seem to be endlessly deep. He makes himself comfortable on a green tinted sofa and blinks down at his phone. “Okay, go ahead.”

Go ahead and what? Ah: I shake my head, remembering my story. “Right. So, it was really hard for me to learn how to not get so invested in their lives. At first, I felt like such a dick because I’d listen to their pain, then force myself to forget about it at home, like it didn’t matter.”

“But you had to, right? How else would you survive?”

Precisely. “Yup. It wasn’t easy, but I finally found a balance by the second year of supervised counseling. After two years of being on my own, though, I decided to take a little break which has turned into two years off.” I chuckle, relaxing again. “Anyway, I’ll go back, but not yet. It takes a toll on me, and while I love it, I can’t do it every day for too long. Sucks, but that’s what I have to do.” With a shrug, I tend to my food again. I wasn’t expecting such a heavy conversation; I’d be lying if I said I’m not the slightest bit uncomfortable and uncertain about how he'll respond. Seung Gil fiddles with something beyond the phone, settling back against the sofa with his sweatshirt unzipped.

“You have to do what’s best.” Such simple words; they fill cracks, though, more than they should.

I smile, happy to have shared something so personal and received such kindness in return. “Yeah, that’s true. Thank you.” The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but it is loud. “Is your apartment always this quiet? I feel like I have to whisper.”

“I told you it was too much.” Seung Gil sighs. “I like quiet, but I hate too much silence.”

“I know what you mean.” I finish up in the kitchen, taking my plate to the dining table. “You mind if I eat? I don’t want to be rude.”

He rolls his eyes, tossing his sweatshirt aside. “That’s not rude, it’s necessary.”

I laugh, almost feeling offended by his tone and small scowl. “Okay, geez! I’ll make sure to talk with my mouth full, just for you.” Now that I think about it, why haven’t I switched back to texting? I’m not that busy any more, so it could be done. Then again, he hasn’t suggested it, either, not even after I’ve finished eating and he’s made himself food, too. Our conversation seems to flow without much effort. “I mean, I can see the appeal of audio books for someone who’s on the road a lot, or something, but I think it’s weird to hear someone read something for you.” He asked me about books and reading, and is now laughing at my response. “Seung Gil, you asked! Why’re you laughing at me?” I scold him while trying not to laugh, too. Wow, is his smile ever bright; both it and his laughter are contagious.

“I’m not laughing at you, I swear!” Could’ve fooled me. “I get it entirely, and I agree.” He wipes at his eye, settling down at last. “I don’t hear many people with the same opinion, and your phrasing was funny, that’s all.” Seung Gil is now smiling at me, and I can’t help but feel like it’s a rare sight I’m privileged to see. A voice whispers in the background on his end, mentioning a commercial break. I know that voice! I know it like I know my own. I gasp. “What?”

“What are you listening to?” His silent smirk is enough of an answer. “You’re listening to Eros, aren’t you? You’re totally cheating on me!”

This gets him laughing again and I can’t help but join in. “He has a great show. It’s not my fault.”

“He’s good, isn’t he?” I watch Seung Gil nod in agreement. “He’s the one who got me into radio. Bet you didn’t know that.”

“I did not. Care to elaborate?”

Some of this story involves Yuuri’s personal life; I’ll have to gloss over some parts to respect his privacy, but I think I can manage. “The man you know as Eros was my roommate in college. We were in an off-campus apartment, and randomly got matched. I was in my first two years, and he was in his last two. He didn’t get out much, so I offered to take him to parties and clubs and stuff.” It was hilarious how out of his element Yuuri was at first, but he wanted to hang out and be a normal college student. “He was kinda uncomfortable, but for whatever reason, he wanted to get used to being around people, so we kept going out. One of his favorite places to go was a jazz club, even though it wasn’t like the other places.” I laugh, remembering how Yuuri would stare at his favorite musician when he played every Thursday night during winter and the start of spring. “He had a favorite musician there, and I couldn’t say no. He met our boss there, who had been doing his own jazz show at the station but wanted a replacement. Before my last year of undergrad, he asked him if he’d like to be on the radio, and Eros was born.” I leave out the parts where Yuuri played so much of his favorite artist on the show that said musician came by the station and formally introduced himself only to find that he’d seen Yuuri at the club about a million times.

“So how did you get the job?”

“Well, he’d been at the station for years, and when our boss was looking to replace the old talk show host, he put in a good word for me.” I was thrilled at the prospect of being on the radio. It made me feel like a celebrity, even though nobody would recognize me as the voice they heard. “I started cohosting after classes when I was getting my Master’s. By the time I graduated, I took over as the host and changed the show to be more therapeutic and interactive than it’d been before, and now it’s been my only job for a couple years.” With a shrug, I check the time: almost seven. “I’m lucky people like to hear me talk.”

I expect Seung Gil to laugh with me, but he shakes his head. “You’re lucky you know how to talk to people.”

What does he mean? “I wasn’t born knowing how to communicate.” I scoff. “It takes practice.”

“If you say so.”

With a nod, I smirk. “I do.” The spark in Seung Gil’s eyes is missing, and I don’t know why or how I can get it back. The fact that I want it back doesn’t go unnoticed by me, but I push the thought to the side for now. “Do you read nonfiction?”

“If I’m interested enough, I’ll read pretty much anything.”

“You wanna help my sales?” I giggle out of hesitance, unsure if I should be telling him this or not.

Seung Gil does not look amused. “Your what, now?”

His serious face makes me laugh. “My book sales. I wrote a book only college students read.” I roll my eyes, still irritated at my professor for suggesting I publish my thoughts on how unfair the stigma surrounding seeking therapy is. “Becoming an author wasn’t a dream, or anything, but I put a lot of work and effort into that book.” Why is he still not saying anything? “Um, Seung Gil? Can you hear me?” If he doesn’t respond, I’ll be forced to start singing just to check the audio.

“Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head, blinking a few times. “Sorry, I’m just surprised.”

“I’ve only written the one book. Don’t go thinking I have talent, or anything.” I laugh at myself while he only blinks with that look still on his face. “What?”

“I’m surprised! I never would’ve thought that you’re an author.”

I roll my eyes; he clearly didn’t hear what I said. “I’m not an author, I just wrote a book.”

“That I’m going to be reading soon.”

This man just gets sweeter and sweeter; words don’t escape me all that often, but for the life of me, I’m unsure what to say to that. I mutter something about appreciation and we move on, but something isn’t allowing me to let it go. Seung Gil hardly knows me; we only know the basics about each other and anything else we’ve gathered from conversing. We’re nowhere near owing each other anything, yet he’s taking it upon himself to go to lengths for me; not great lengths, but still: he’s making more of an effort than some would and I’m not sure why. He called my show just to apologize; he gave me his number so he could improve his general attitude; he texts me when he has free time, often during his work hours and sometimes during mine; he agreed to facetime when he was in the middle of his commute; he listened to my sad and boring stories of before I was P. Chu on the radio; he gave me support for something I struggled to come to terms with for a long time; he said he’d read my book, knowing that the contents aren’t great and I’m not really a writer. Why? I have no answers, but I can’t help but wonder about his intentions. If he simply wants a friend, someone to turn to, I don’t have a problem with that; I can work with being friends. We manage to talk through the remaining hours before I need to get ready for work. I lean my phone against my vanity mirror, sitting at the table with a leftover laugh on my tongue. “You should not be allowed to throw anything in the office ever again!” I find my favorite eyeliner pencil, opting to go with a more natural look today.

“I thought he’d catch it. What man can’t catch a burrito?”

Of course, this comment makes me laugh and screw up the line I’m trying to draw. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh! You messed me up.” I start over, getting right at the lash line.

“What’re you doing?”

Isn’t it obvious? “Lining my eyes; duh.” I smirk, looking over at my phone. Seung Gil is staring at me, eyes focused at my makeup. “I take it you don’t wear makeup. I just like to line my eyes, maybe add some mascara, cover up any weird blemishes.” The only person who’s seen me put on makeup, outside of a romantic relationship, is Yuuri; this makes me laugh. “Most people have to wait for me to post selfies to see the final result.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” I smile, admiring my handiwork in the mirror, adding that he should follow me on social media. “You know, if you want to see my past work and my pets. And friends. I post a lot, okay?” With a laugh, I try to make my hair look less flat, but today is not a good hair day. “My hair has a mind of its own today. You ever have that problem?”

He snorts, pointing at his hair. “Story of my life. I hardly even bother.”

I shrug. “I don’t wear it as well as you.” One of my baseball caps is slung over a corner of the mirror. It isn’t all that functional in the cold, but I think I can work it anyway; on my head it goes, flipped backwards. I’ve been asked why my appearance matters when only a guaranteed three people will see me when I leave my apartment. My response to that is: the only person you should ever try to look decent for is the one in the mirror. Being able to appreciate your own unique beauty is essential for having a good day. “Alright, I’m all set.” I take one last look at my reflection and pick up my phone. When I look at the screen, I find a dark pair of eyes staring back at me. Did I fuck up my eyeliner, or something? Why is he looking at me like that? “What? Do I look weird?” My reflection tells me no, but Seung Gil’s expression says otherwise.

He blinks, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact all of a sudden. “I’m sorry, I…I spaced out for a second.” Seung Gil meets my gaze again, eyes wide. “Are you going to the station now?”

If I had to put money on it, I’d bet that that wasn’t what he wanted to say. He seemed really distracted…by my appearance. He saw me all evening, so I don’t know why he’d be distracted. A part of me says he really was just being flighty, but the rest of me hopes maybe he saw something he likes. Instead of asking, I nod. “Yeah, I’ve gotta get going. Will you be listening?”

“Of course.”

“My number one fan.” I laugh as I gather my things for work. I hope Yuuri left the charger under the desk, in case there’s a lot of phone traffic tonight.

Seung Gil sighs with a small shrug. “I should really be trying to sleep, but…” He makes a noncommittal noise accompanied by an eye roll. “Whatever. Drive safe, okay? Good luck with your callers. Hopefully you won’t get another me.”

His smirk makes me smile. “One you is enough.” Aww, his smile is even better! I really do have to leave, though. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Probably after work.”

“Okay, later, Phichit.” Seung Gil waves, so I wave back.

Before leaving, I bundle up and check on my hamsters, telling them to be good. The cold air of the night bites at my skin and only relents when I blast my car’s heater. The warmth only lasts the short drive, cold coming back with a vengeance once I step into the station parking lot. A short car horn makes me jump; it came from the nearby car, left running. The window rolls down, exposing the familiar face of the driver who tosses a grin my way. “You’re late, Phichit!” The silver haired man sings, taunting me from his cozy front seat.

I roll my eyes, waving him off over my shoulder. “You’re making me even later, Victor!” Yeah, this is the living legend jazz musician extraordinaire: Victor Nikiforov. I know him as the man who stole my best friend's heart via saxophone. “Yuuri's gonna kill me.”

“Tell him he had a great set at eight, and he’ll forget all about it.” Victor shouts. The way he says it makes me wonder if his advice will work or end up having the opposite effect; maybe it’s not his tone, but rather who Victor is as a person.

“If it makes him angrier, I’m coming for you.” I point at the laughing man and rush through the building. Yuuri’s glare through the window doesn’t look good for my fortune. I bite my lip and wait for him outside the booth, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Yuuri never stays upset for long, but he doesn’t forget easily; I could be hearing about this for days. Well, unless I buy him lunch this weekend, or something. When he finally exits the room, I don’t force a smile: I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry I’m late! I swear, I lost track of time and it wasn’t on purpose. Don’t hate me.” I want to blame Seung Gil, but I haven’t really told Yuuri we’ve been talking as much as we have; he’ll overthink it and I’m not prepared for that yet. My apology doesn’t do much to soften the sharp look he gives. Time for Victor’s advice, I guess. “Well, you had a great show! Especially at eight.”

Yuuri shoots me a deadpan look, arching an eyebrow with an unamused pout. “Did you run into Victor in the parking lot?”

Damn it, Victor! I sigh, shoulders sagging. “Why?”

“That was my Victor hour.” Yuuri smirks. “Get in there, and stop being late or I’ll start making you show up early.”

“Please don’t.”

Yuuri laughs, lightly smacking me in the arm in passing. “Then don’t make me.” Oh, right: point made. “See you tomorrow, P.”

As soon as I get settled in the hot seat, I curse under my breath and pull out my phone. It’s Seung Gil’s fault I’m late, and I tell him as much: ‘You made me late!!! I was scolded by Eros lol’

It doesn’t take long for a response to come: ‘If memory serves, you were conversing, too.’

And just like that, I’m faced with another night of texting Seung Gil right up until he falls asleep. We talk about everything and nothing, and every bit sends my heart into a fluttery rhythm I recognize as the early stages of infatuation. Once again, I blame Seung Gil for this, but he doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you expect Victor to make a cameo? I didn’t XD He just found his way into this chapter hahha I thought it’d be fun to set up the getting-to-know-you part of Phichit and Seung Gil’s relationship through phone conversation; it’s not too heavy, has a fun tone and allows me to be a little self-indulgent :3 The next chapter will take place a couple weeks or so after these events. I’ll explain more next week and I thank you for reading!


	5. Yoga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie doke, so like I mentioned, this chapter occurs a couple weeks after the last chapter. It’s safe to assume that Seung Gil and Phichit have been talking often and feel comfortable joking with and teasing each other. Also, do you have that one friend who has made some questionable relationship decisions, so now you worry about them? I do, and they were inspiration for parts of this chapter XD Enjoy!

At least once a weekend, I pull on my yoga pants, toss my mat over my shoulder and hitch a ride with Yuuri to the corner studio for afternoon yoga. In our college days, I practiced yoga to keep my sanity: meditation, breathing, mantras, poses and all. I still chant my ‘neti, neti' during tough times and ‘om, śāntih’ to feel centered, but I’d be lying if I said I practiced regularly and for that, I’m slightly ashamed. It’s not like I don’t meditate or observe my behavior or anything, so I don’t feel too guilty; spending time with my best friend is fun, though, and I’d like to get more Yuuri yoga time once in a while. As we toe our shoes off at the wall, I bring this up. “We should do this more often. I know we only get Saturday and Sunday off, but still.”

Yuuri shrugs, tucking his glasses into our shared gym bag that houses our phones and wallets and stuff. “Yeah, that’d be nice. We used to have a strict schedule, remember?” He smirks.

“Up at dawn to salute the sun, Monday, Wednesday, Friday.” I laugh, remembering grumpy bedhead Yuuri trying not to fall asleep before we got to śavāsana. “You were a good sport, though. Let’s try for Thursdays this time, at three.”

Before he can respond, our instructor walks in with authoritative grace and a simple smile. We begin our session seated, side by side at the back of the class. It didn’t take but a few minutes for us to learn that this instructor likes us a whole lot more when we're not at the front, or really near anyone but each other. The reason? It's a nice place to catch up, even if we have to whisper. “Why Thursdays?” Yuuri asks, voice barely audible.

“Because we never made Thursday a yoga day before.”

“Oh, okay. That could work.”

“Speaking of work…” I move just a bit closer so he can hear me better. “I was thinking about my topics for next week, and I thought maybe I’d make it all about relationship stages. What do you think?”

Yuuri takes a moment to be a good student and properly move into our next posture, pausing our conversation. “Hm. That could be interesting. I’d listen to that, probably.”

I stifle my laugh, not totally convinced but willing to let it go. “People love to talk about love.”

“Especially you.”

Yeah, he has a very valid point. I can't help that I’m a romantic at heart; I won’t apologize for that. “Initial attraction, infatuation, mutual adoration, falling in love.” Some people give these stages different titles, but I think they’re simple enough to understand in this form. Well, until Yuuri scoffs. “What?”

“That’s only four.”

Oh, it is? Which am I forgetting… “Commitment.”

“Everyone's favorite.” Yuuri laughs softly, sarcasm evident even in the low volume.

I roll my eyes. “For real.” Human beings weren’t really created with commitment on the brain, rather procreation being hardwired as top priority. Not that it's impossible to have a long-term committed relationship; it's simply easier for the brain, and everything below it, to not be tied down. “How’s your stage five going?” When I talk to my friends about their love lives, it’s so damn hard not to analyze and counsel. With Yuuri it's easier, but I still have to remind myself to listen as a friend and not a professional at times.

“It's going well, thank you.” He smiles, a faint red dusting his cheeks. It could be his twentieth anniversary and he’d still get that bashful look when his relationship is mentioned.

“Oh yeah?”

Yuuri nods before we shift into our next posture. I focus my breathing, making sure to ease through the exhale longer than I have been. Every breath allows me to reach a little further, fall into form a little easier. When I glance over at Yuuri again, the gold band around his finger catches the light. “We’re going out tonight at the old club.”

I assume he means the jazz club we used to frequent. “Is he playing?”

“No, we’re going just to listen.”

I nod, breathing deeply again. “That sounds like a good time. Is there an occasion?”

“I don’t think so.” Yuuri whispers, shaking his head slightly. “I think he just wants to spend time together. He was really busy last week, and I was busy the week before.”

It seems like the two always find a way to make time for each other. On one hand, I’m envious of that kind of devotion; on the other hand, I’m grateful my closest friend can have that in a relationship. My mouth turns up in a smirk. “You’re so lucky, Yuuri. Victor always makes time to be with you.” To this, Yuuri simply smiles. Well, he tries to hide it but I can see the redness in his face and that’s enough. “You get flowers just because, homemade breakfast in bed, songs written for you…”

“Okay, okay.” Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I get it. What’s his name?”

What’s whose name? What does he mean? “What’re you talking about? I was just saying you’re both lucky.”

We settle into another posture, half a step behind the rest of the class. “It’s more than luck; it’s work, too. And you only talk about my marriage when you’re starting to flirt with someone.”

Before I can spit out a retort, my limbs give out and send me crashing to the floor. Every eye shifts my way as I scramble to catch up to the others, balance entirely half-assed but good enough to quell their curious stares. “I’m good!” I reassure them. Our instructor nods, ignoring me with intent. I glare at Yuuri: he’s been laughing the whole time. “Shut up.” I hiss at him, remembering to set him straight on that little comment he made. “And what’re you talking about? I ask you about Victor all the time, even when I’m not flirting with someone.” I’m slightly offended at this, actually; I know Yuuri knows it because he sighs, making eye contact.

“Okay, yeah: you ask about Victor often. I’m just saying, every time you start to get into a new relationship, you analyze other relationships more.” His eyes soften when my frown dissolves. “It’s not a bad thing, P. I just want to know who the guy is.”

I roll my eyes at his assumptions. “There is no guy. You’d be the first to know if there was.”

“Yeah, you’re bad at keeping secrets.” Yuuri’s laugh is quiet this time and feels less at my expense. “And very picky with men.”

“I see no benefits in settling.” There are some standards I really won’t budge on. “And nobody can handle my lifestyle. They can never fit in my schedule in a way that’ll make us both happy.” This is the sad truth about being a social person with nocturnal tendencies: people don’t like adjusting around my job and resent how often I hang out and talk with friends. I’ve also gotten complaints about my social media habits, but jealousy and insecurity aren’t enough for me to rearrange my life. “Oh well.”

After I sigh, Yuuri blinks his warm eyes at me. “One day.”

Even though I don’t know how true that is, I believe he thinks it’s true: Yuuri thinks I’ll have a happily ever after like him. “Oh yeah?” I smile with more gratitude than I think he realizes. He nods anyway.

“You’re too awesome to stay single forever.”

If this isn’t what best friends are for, I don’t know what is! I ignore the fact that we’re in a yoga session and reach over, embracing Yuuri tighter than he expects. “You’re the absolute best!” My voice might be a bit too loud, considering our surroundings. Oh, and considering Yuuri’s reaction: reddening face, darting eyes, resisting my hug. He tries to pry me off with little effort.

“Phichit, let go! You’re being disruptive.” Yuuri pouts.

It’s my turn to laugh at him; I let go first, though. “But you needed to be hugged!”

For the rest of our session, Yuuri struggles to fight back a smile. I ignore the glare from our instructor, blissfully lost in my therapeutic stretching. Once we get to śavāsana, my mind drifts between consciousness and sleep. It’s a nice place to be: I’m not quite asleep and I’m not exactly awake, but I feel rather relaxed. My thoughts go in several directions while my eyes remain shut. I think about getting lunch later, buying some new shoes, getting a haircut, maybe seeing if Yuri or Mila want to go out later for a drink; these thoughts come and go until I think about what Yuuri said: does my brain really switch to romance mode when I find a new person to flirt with? I mean, I think it’s only normal for a person to think of other relationships when they’re in one; it’s very human to compare events in our lives, and I can admit that. However, I talk about and analyze relationships all the time. Oh, and also: there’s no boyfriend to speak of. I’m not in any romantic relationship, and I didn’t think I was thinking about getting into one. I mean, I’ve been a little flirty with Seung Gil, but it’s not like we’re dating. He’s just easy to talk to and we have fun conversations. I wonder what he’s doing right now, anyway. Last weekend, he accidentally helped his neighbor move out of their apartment and vowed to stay in this weekend. At first I didn’t understand what he meant. How does one accidentally move boxes? When he explained that he heard a noise and went out to see what was going on and got roped into it, though, I understood. I laughed and made fun of him, and he said the joke was on me because he was the one rewarded with free pizza. A nudge to my ribs startles my eyes open. What the hell was that? Yuuri’s standing nearby, rolling up his mat. “You’re making a weird face.”

I roll my eyes, sitting up on my elbows. “Did you have to kick me?”

“Namaste.” Yuuri smirks, balancing his mat on one shoulder. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“Sounds good.” I yawn and pack up to leave. Yuuri hands me my phone so I can switch it back on. There are several notifications, but only one catches my eye: a new text from Seung Gil. I don’t get a chance to check it because Yuuri’s clearing his throat to get my attention. “What?”

He frowns, settling his glasses in place. “You told me there’s no guy!”

“That’s because there isn’t.” My eyes go back to the screen: ‘Your author photo on the back cover is hilarious.’ I’m not sure what he means, but it makes me laugh. Yuuri is shooting me a look like I’m full of shit and we both know it. “I’m serious! Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why’re you so smiley and giddy over a text, then?”

I send a reply to Seung Gil before answering Yuuri, nearly tripping on the studio’s threshold. ‘OMG did you read it???’ I follow Yuuri into his car, buckling into the passenger seat. “I think he read my book.”

He glances at me for a moment longer than he should, being the one behind the wheel and all. “Yeah?”

A new message arrives: ‘Cover to cover. Why did you pose like that for the photo?’ Why is he so fixated on my picture? I nod to Yuuri, feeling an odd apprehension in the inches that separate us. “Yeah, he’s that friend I told you about.”

“You mean the one you started helping with emotional stuff? That one caller?”

Since Seung Gil and I have been talking for a month or so, I mentioned it to Yuuri; I made sure to mention we were just friends, but he’s apparently not convinced, or something. “That’s the one.” I send a selfie, making a face, followed by a text: ‘I look professional! Shut up lol’ Just so Yuuri won’t have more to say, I add that I’ll text back in a bit and put my phone down. “But seriously, we’re just friends. We’ve never even met.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Yuuri sighs. “Why haven’t you met? This isn’t a long-distance thing, is it?”

“He lives downtown.” I highly doubt I’d ever try a long-distance situation ever again; that person would have to be supremely special to change my mind. “I’ve learned my lesson, thank you very much.”

“So you are into him!” Yuuri laughs. “I knew it. You like him.”

Even though I want to argue, I find myself smiling. Why the hell am I smiling? “I never said that.”

“But you do, right?” He can’t hide the smug tone in his voice.

I shrug; I don’t know him all that well, but I can’t deny that he’s attractive and interesting. “He’s a really nice guy, and he’s fun to talk with. It’s…it’s kind of hard not to like him.”

“Have you been flirting?”

“Maybe.” I know what his next question is, so I answer it preemptively. “And I don’t know how he feels because we haven’t discussed that. I don’t even know if he’s interested in men.” Our conversations have gone many places, but exes and crushes aren’t included. “He’s not one for too many words anyway. I don’t want to scare him off with talk of relationships and shit.”

Yuuri taps his fingers on the wheel, gears turning in his head. “I think you should meet him in person before deciding if you really like him or not.”

I nod in agreement; Yuuri’s caution has proved useful in the past. I might as well take in his advice and thoughts on this. “I guess. I’m not trying to get involved right away, though. We both know how that went last time.” I sigh, a wave of sadness washing over me. I’m over my ex, but thinking about the circumstances of why we broke up is still sad; nobody likes being neglected and emotionally cheated on.

“Not every guy is Chris, you know.” Yuuri reminds me in a small, sweet voice. He’s right and I know it. I nod again but remain quiet. “And, anyway, we don’t know how this will go. You might decide you want to stay friends instead.”

Again, I guess he has a point. “Maybe. We haven’t talked about meeting in person yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Never really thought about it before…it hasn’t come up. “Neither of us has brought it up, but maybe we should hang out.” Ugh, I can feel myself slipping into psychology Phichit; it’s hard not to analyze all the little things when Yuuri brings them up! “Now you’ve got me dissecting everything.”

Yuuri finds a way to laugh at this, managing to lighten my mood a fraction. “Don’t blame me! I just want to make sure you’re going to be well and happy.”

“I know, and I appreciate it.” I give his shoulder a firm squeeze, both of our smiles growing. “You know what would make you and me really happy right now, though?”

“Hm?”

“Big sandwiches.”

We share a laugh as Yuuri grins at me. “Agreed.”

Now that my belly is full and aching from laughter, I make it back to my place with a box of leftovers in one hand and my yoga mat in the other. It’s a struggle to get through the door, but I manage. I toss my food to the table and my mat in the closet and tend to my hamsters. “Are you hungry, or do you have enough in there?” I peek at their food dish, noticing a particular seed is collecting. “Why don’t you like that weird round seed? You used to eat it all the time.” I mutter. I can’t exchange the seed with much: I’m almost out of hamster food altogether. I pick out the strange bits, though, and stand with a smile. “There: only the good stuff. Tomorrow is Sunday. Know what that means?” Two sets of hamster eyes ignore me; the other remains shut in slumber. I take this as active listening. “Fresh vegetables! Exciting, right?” I shrug off their lack of enthusiasm as humility and turn to leave. “You can thank me later.”

Back in regular clothes, I settle at the coffee table with hot tea and my phone, finally ready to text Seung Gil back. ‘Sorry, was w a friend at lunch’ I also ask if he's been to that particular sandwich shop before. It’s been around for ages, and it somehow always stays awesome.

‘Yeah, it’s good. A little overpriced but I think the pickles make up for it.’ In typical Seung Gil fashion, he’s refreshingly open with his opinions. I smile at the pickle comment, knowing I have one in my takeaway box.

‘Lol ikr XD I have one in my leftovers! Too good to leave behind lmao'

There's an extended period of silence after my text; I busy myself with a cooking show on TV, cringing at the celebrities’ inability to use a damn stove. Seriously, how have they made it to adulthood without learning how to boil water? The message tone on my phone saves me from the cooking disasters: ‘Would you mind video chat? I’m folding laundry. “Ah, the soul-destroying boredom of long days of mild content.”’

I don’t know who or what he's quoting, but I’m cool with his request. I tell him as much and accept his call, immediately taken aback by the piles of clothes all around him and the rest of his visible living room. “What the hell?” I laugh. He rolls his eyes, dark and sparkling.

“Don’t even think about judging me. I know it’s a mess.”

Even though mountains of fabric surround him, he's managed to find a sweater that fits him quite nicely in a flattering shade of blue. “I had no idea you owned so much stuff.”

“It's not that much, is it?” Seung Gil sets his phone down and resumes his folding.

“Um, when you can claim statehood on a stack of sweatshirts, I think it is.” My teasing gets a smirk out of him, but no verbal response. “Did you really read my book?” I know he said he did, but for whatever reason, I can’t seem to believe it. Well, until he pauses his folding and pulls a book out from under the table: he’s serious! I cover part of my face to hide my embarrassment. “You bought the damn thing?”

“You asked me to.” When he shrugs, he flashes a smirk that I wish I could see in person. 

“I didn’t think you would!”

Seung Gil sets the book back wherever he pulled it from, tending to his laundry yet again. “Well, I did, and I enjoyed it.” He…he what? “I didn’t feel like I was reading a textbook, and it wasn’t boring. So, there’s that.” The sounds from the TV fade away, leaving me in stunned silence. I want to ask him to repeat himself, but I know I understood him perfectly well the first time. I didn’t think anyone could enjoy a book like mine, especially someone who isn’t in the psychology community. “Phichit?” Seung Gil’s voice snaps me out of my stillness. I blink at his frowning face. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I try to laugh off my behavior and know I fail; I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I’m just…nobody's ever said they liked my book before.” Before he can get it twisted, I elaborate. “My profs and peers said it was informative and a good teaching tool, but that’s not the same.”

“Oh.” Seung Gil pops his knuckles and proceeds to stretch his fingers out, bending and straightening them. When we lock eyes again, his soft expression melts my sappy heart. “Well, it is all those things, but I don’t know. I thought it was enjoyable. Did you really write all of it on your own? No help or coauthors?” The question almost flies over my head. I have to get a hold of myself and keep my head out of the clouds.

Does an editor count as help? I don’t think so. “Just an editor.” Lost in his laundry, Seung Gil nods in response. “If I hadn’t told you about it, would you have read it?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah right, Seung Gil.” I make a face at him, not buying his words. “You’d read that kind of book?”

“I’m not making that up.” He scoffs. “Novels are my favorite, but I read a lot of different things just for the fun of it. I like to learn, even about stuff that’s unfamiliar.” I knew he was a bookworm, but I didn’t get to what extent until this moment, I think. Imagining him curled up on his couch with my book is both adorable and flattering.

I find myself smiling with pride at having written something Seung Gil found impressive. “That’s cool. I’m glad you read it, and really glad you liked it.”

“Oh?”

“…yes?” I sort of laugh, suddenly nervous. There’s no reason to be nervous; he’s my friend. His challenge is somehow taking me off my game. “I happen to be very self conscious about that book, and it’s nice to know that my friend liked reading it.” Simple as that, right? It has nothing to do with how I’m starting to feel about him. Will meeting him in person change those feelings? “So, can I ask you something?”

Maybe this is what I’m nervous about. Seung Gil looks unfazed, piling up a stack of shirts on top of another pile. “What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“No, I meant what is it?” Seung Gil chuckles, finding a place to recline.

It’s not a big deal if we’re hanging out as friends, right? And we won’t even need to hang out for very long. It’d be nice to see this man in person, though, and see where things go. “Are you doing anything after work on Monday?” I sincerely hope he says no, and then I can invite him to hang out. He blinks at me as if he doesn’t know what day it even is.

“What’s happening Monday?”

Yeah, okay; not the response I was looking for, but I can work with that. “I’m almost out of hamster food, but the pet store is closed tomorrow, so I was thinking I’d go Monday.” I’m met with fucking crickets as Seung Gil just sits there like I’m speaking gibberish with a Martian accent. “It’s kinda boring to shop solo, so I was just wondering if you’d be interested in joining me.” Ugh, why’s he looking at me like that? Is it really so weird that I want to see him and spend time with him? I roll my eyes, getting impatient. “You don’t have to, you know. You can say no.”

“No!” Whoa, he raised his voice. I didn’t know he could even do that! Seung Gil’s face turns slightly red as he fiddles with the hair at the back of his head. “I didn’t mean that. I had to…I was thinking about it, that’s all.” Right. I nod, still waiting for an answer. “Um, so yeah, I can meet you there when I get off if you want. I’m not doing anything else.”

So it’s a yes! I’ll get to meet Seung Gil and run an errand; it’s a win-win situation for me. I grin, trying not to come off too excited. “Yeah? You’ll go with me?”

“Yes.” He nods once. “I’ll go.”

“Thanks.” I mean, he didn’t have to agree to go; I’m grateful he said yes. “It won’t be boring, I swear.” This comment loosens Seung Gil up enough that he laughs. “If we have fun talking, I’m sure we’ll have fun in person.” I don’t exactly mean to voice that thought, but I can’t take it back.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Seung Gil smirks. “I won’t argue if you want to get food after, either.”

My smile grows; maybe he’s better at this game than I thought. Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That quote Seung Gil said at the end of his text is from ‘No Exit and Three Other Plays’ by Jean-Paul Sartre, a French philosopher/writer; just a little FYI :3 I’ve taught a few yoga classes before, and honestly don’t mind when people talk; like, it doesn’t ruin my experience so whatever hahha Generally, though, it’s highly discouraged. Oh, here’s a Sanskrit lesson: neti = translating to ‘not this,’ a chant when you want to change something in your life; om, śāntih = a peace chant, recited by repeating śāntih three times; śavāsana = corpse pose in yoga, done by lying on your back with palms up and heels apart to wind down from a yoga session; namaste = a greeting of mutual respect to one person, but is used as a salutation of gratitude and closing of a yoga session in Western culture. This chapter originally had a sassier Yuuri, but I felt like giving Phichit a break hahha


	6. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that this is a Seung Gil chapter in my last notes XD Totes forgot. I see SG and Otabek as sorta similar in that they’re both reserved, and don’t really like being in crowds; I see them as different in that Otabek is easier to get to know and has more street smarts. Pretty sure they’d get along hahha So this is kind of a long chapter, and it does get sad at some points: there is mention of a lost loved one at the end, so be warned that death is a topic of discussion. When grief is mentioned, you’ll know you’re heading into some sadness, so be prepared!

To anyone who passes by the copy machine, they’d see a very focused man waiting for papers to file out of one end of it while scribbling notes on a cluttered page stuck to a clipboard. To the trained observer, they’d see an anxious and petrified man writing his feelings down on a recycled, outdated workplace policy printout in shitty block letters: ‘HE ASKED TO MEET ME HE WANTS TO SEE ME WHY THE HELL DID I SAY YES WHAT AM I DOING HE WANTS TO SEE ME I’M GOING TO EMBARRASS MYSELF HE’S GOING TO THINK I’M WEIRD WHY DID HE ASK TO MEET ME WHY DID I SAY YES I FEEL SICK HE ASKED TO MEET ME ME OF ALL PEOPLE OH NO WHAT DOES HE WANT FROM ME’ I only stop scrawling when a coworker leans on the machine with a professional smile. “Almost done?” She asks, playing with her dark hair over one shoulder. I hug the clipboard closer to my chest, suddenly hyperaware of what I’ve written down.

“Uh, yeah, it’ll just be a minute.”

She nods without another word, stepping back out onto the sales floor with clear resolve to avoid eye contact; it’s fine by me. I glance back down at my notes, wondering how I got myself into this mess in the first place. One moment I was taking care of my laundry, not thinking much about a friendly conversation with an undeniably intriguing man; the next moment, said man is asking me on a date like it’s not unusual to want to spend time with me. How could I say no? Phichit is entertaining to listen to, captivating to talk to and impossible to ignore. The whining copy machine prompts me to grab my things and sit back at my desk, staring blankly at the pages; I haven’t focused on a single task today, mind on only one thing. I don’t think I can be blamed for being stuck on this topic, considering my last date was years ago. People don’t talk to me unless they really have to, and they certainly don’t ask if I want to go out with them; I’m not sure why Phichit has done that and more. When he did ask, I almost declined: I haven’t been to a pet store in over a year for a reason. The only thing that made me change my mind was the expectant look in Phichit’s dark grey eyes, sincere and, dare I say, hopeful. For whatever reason, he wants to meet me and I’m certain of that.

I want to see him, too. At first, if I’m honest, Phichit struck me as cocky and indifferent. The way he speaks with no room for questioning, far more certain of himself than one should be: it all got under my skin in an unpleasant way. Then Phichit made it very clear, in not so many words, that his carefree attitude is just that: he doesn’t care if people think he’s phony or if people like what he has to say. He doesn’t mind being questioned and he has no qualms about standing up for himself. Phichit knows who he is; he’s happy in his own skin. The second I discovered how I’d misinterpreted Phichit, admiration clouded all other thoughts. After learning that he does, indeed, have his own fears and insecurities, I think I knew I was doomed. Knowing that someone so seemingly solid has hidden cracks is comforting in a way: maybe we’re not so different.

“You ready?”

Evidently, I was not, and now I'm scrambling to collect the papers I just dropped, startled as hell by Otabek’s nearby voice. “You scared the shit out of me.” I mutter, frowning at the floor as he attempts to help; his laugh isn’t all that beneficial, though.

“Sorry. What’s got you so jumpy?” Otabek asks.

The time on the clock is a dreadful reminder that we have a meeting to get to; I’d forgotten, as I’d forgotten I wasn’t entirely alone with my thoughts. I shake my head, sighing. “A lot on my mind. The meeting not being one of those things.” I rub my eyes in an attempt to wake my senses up. As expected, I didn’t really sleep last night or the night before.

Otabek has the sense not to pry, nodding in some sort of understanding as I stand next to him. “Well, we won’t be there long. Let’s go.”

“I have a date.”

Well, looks like I said that out loud. Otabek’s eyebrows arch in either confusion or surprise, jaw dropping only enough that his lips slightly part on a frozen response. I shift from one foot to the other and keep my eyes on the floor. I’m sure I’m turning some shade of red, but I clear my throat like I didn’t just blurt the root of my anxiety out loud. “That’s why you’re acting nervous?” I’ve never heard him speak so…softly. I don’t know how I feel about it, but nod. “They agreed to go out with you, so—”

“He asked me.”

“Even better, then.” Otabek chuckles. “So why be nervous?”

Otabek wouldn’t understand: our coworkers stop and say hi to him; customers don’t actively ignore him when he’s on the floor; someone put a ring on his finger; strangers greet him when he walks down the street. No, people don’t really strike up conversations with him or invite him places, but still: how can I put this into words without spelling it out in this way? “It’s been a minute.” I start out, not willing to give him the whole truth. “He’s different.” I don’t want to fuck it up and lose Phichit before I even get a chance to be with him, but he’s so out of my league, I might not get that shot to start with.

He shrugs, unknowingly imparting knowledge: “You got this. He likes you.” His small, encouraging smile partnered with a brief pat on the back cements my new mantra. “And if it goes south, I’ll buy you a beer later, okay?”

I guess I can’t lose too much here. I nod, feeling lighter than I have in a few days. “Deal.”

Throughout the meeting, my new mantra takes up all the space my boss’ words should occupy: I got this. I got this. I got this. This will go well because Phichit likes me. If he already likes me, then there’s no reason to worry. He’s the one who invited me, so he surely wants to meet me. He looked excited at my acceptance, and said he was looking forward to hanging out one on one. I got this. I almost miss when the meeting closes, a tap on my shoulder bringing me back to reality. “Were you taking notes?” Otabek asks, glancing at the clipboard in front of me. There’s no way I’m admitting to what I wrote on the paper; I send the page through the shredder and the subject is dropped.

After work, I take deep breaths of frigid air, mantra on repeat: I got this. In this part of town, there’s only one pet store. Out front, an old church pew serves as a bench for passersby on warmer days; today, it’ll serve as my waiting spot while I try to read an old novel I picked up from the clearance shelf at work the other day. My eyes skim over the words of the book with the wind whipping at the pages, absorbing nothing. I reread the same sentence around eleven times and refuse to check the time again, afraid of how late it’s gotten. I got here slightly early but now the minutes keep ticking away beyond our scheduled meeting time, causing my palms to sweat and my heartbeat to pick up its pace. We agreed on this day and this time; these are facts, but the tiniest part of me wonders if I’m mistaken: it’s one of the alternatives to being stood up. I’ll wait a little longer before calling it quits and cashing in my free beer from Otabek, knowing it can’t make up for the broken date. I guess the world will keep turning if I have to walk away by myself; it’s probably for the best that we never met if it was going to end up— “Seung Gil Lee?” I could pick that voice out in any crowd. I mark my place in the book, peering over the cover at the man I’ve been waiting for: Phichit Chulanont. The sight takes my breath away. It’s kind of embarrassing, but true. His eyes sparkle far more than my phone screen led me to believe; his smile is brighter than he showed me before; the energy he radiates is almost overwhelming in its strength and sunniness, yet I’m drawn to it like a magnet; even his voice carries a brightness that didn’t quite carry through our phones. Did I acknowledge him yet, or have I only been staring? Maybe I don't got this. Ugh, damn it, I hope I haven't already screwed up. I nod, standing to greet him, when he shoves a clear cup at me, laughing. “I know it’s cold, but it’s a gift for you, so I think you have to accept.” A gift? I take the drink from him, barely missing his fingers, and notice the marker letters on the side: ‘lychee/ Rbow’ “I had to wait a few minutes for the girl to restock the rainbow jelly, so I’m sorry I’m late.” Phichit shrugs with a soft smile. He remembered my favorite bubble tea. He even went the extra mile to get it exactly right. Is he real?

“Oh, that’s okay.” I sip the drink before realizing my rudeness. “Thank you for the smoothie. It's perfect.” His smile is the only fuel I need to move forward. “So, um, it’s nice to actually meet you.” My hand automatically moves for a handshake but he hesitates to grab it, smirking.

“So formal.” Phichit giggles, squeezing my hand for a brief moment. His skin is so warm, even in this brisk weather. I expect it to be softer, but I’m not displeased. “It is nice to meet in person, though.” He tightens the maroon scarf around his neck, pointing at the door. “Should we go inside? I’m not sure how you were comfortable sitting out here. I feel even worse for being late now.” His pouting face is even cuter in person. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not.

“I don’t mind the cold.” I remind him while opening the door. “After you.”

Phichit smiles and pats my arm in passing. “Why, thank you! You're considerate.” He waves at the clerk over his shoulder, settling a shopping basket over his elbow. “Did your meeting go well?”

Talk about considerate: he even remembered what I was doing at work today. I shrug, following him wherever he goes. “It was boring.”

“Nothing new?” He laughs a bit with a smirk.

“Just budgeting and reiterating projected figures.” At least, I think that’s what the meeting was about. I was too busy thinking about him to concentrate but that’s my little secret.

Phichit's laugh is musical, sending butterflies to my belly. “You’re right: that does sound boring.”

My eyes lock on an aisle in passing: dog toys. The lump in my throat makes it impossible to breath for a second, feet glued to the tiled floor, gaze frozen, cold, dampening. This, right here, was why I was reluctant to come with Phichit. His voice is faint, growing fainter, and I can’t seem to hear the words as anything more than sound. I’m not breathing, lungs refusing to cooperate. I used to frequent this aisle; I bought that toy and two of those over there. I spent more money here than I did on myself. It all feels so fresh, as if it happened yesterday and not a year ago. But it was a year; months have passed. Finally, I suck in enough air to prevent death, clutching the front of my shirt. “Shit.” I curse under my breath, glancing around for Phichit and coming up empty. It’s better that he doesn’t see me this way. I wipe at my eyes, just to be sure there’s no evidence of my emotions, and stare at the floor. “You’re okay. You’re not here for this.” I remind myself in a whisper. Footsteps nearby lead me to Phichit, smiling and oblivious.

“Where’d you go, Mr. Lee?”

I don’t want to lie, but I’m not ready to be that honest with him. “I’m sorry. I spaced out, I guess. Where were we going?” He leads the way again while I sip more tea; it helps soothe my nerves.

“Hamster section. Gotta stock up on food again.” Phichit goes on to tell me about how his three pets have gotten pickier about what they eat with age. I’ve seen countless pictures of them, even a handful of videos. The other day, he sent me five different versions of the same image to help him decide which he should post online. I feel privileged to see those non-posted pictures, but not as much as when he shares bedhead and unfiltered ones of himself with only me; those make me feel unreasonably special. “What were you reading while you were waiting?” His tone convinces me he’s genuinely curious and not making small talk to pass the time. Whether he likes it or not, I explain the plot points I was able to glean and share all I know about the characters so far. He laughs at my description of my least favorite character, questions the plot’s direction, listens to me babble on about similar stories I’ve read before. Generally, people hear what’s being said, but nobody listens quite like Phichit.

When he’s paid for everything, we throw our cups away and walk a few meters down the block. Having not asked where we’re going, I decide to find out. “Where to?”

Phichit smiles and stops by a car, jingling his keys. “Anywhere we want.”

The temperature drops on our way to the edge of the city. I’ve never really been this far from downtown; my apartment and office are close enough that I don’t drive, and I have many restaurants and a grocery store down the block, so why would I go further? Well, it’s certainly quieter and not as much traffic clutters the streets. My lungs have an easier time breathing, too, and it’s almost like I’m in a new city. “I’ve never been out here.” I mention, staring out the window.

“Really? It’s different, right?” Phichit smiles. “I used to drive out here in college. It helped with the stress.”

I nod in thought; my escape has always been my own room, or a library. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while.” Phichit sighs with a small shake of his head. “You’re hungry, right?”

“Is there anything good out here?”

He laughs quietly, interrupted by his ringing phone. “Ugh, don’t call me right now.” He whines, handing the device my direction. “Can you tell me who it is?”

“Says Ciao Ciao.”

A groan fills up the pause before he asks me to put the call on speaker. “Hello?” Phichit doesn’t sound thrilled, but I don’t know this person. Truth be told, I feel a little strange listening in.

“Phichit, can you come in early tonight?” A male voice asks. He sounds tired.

Phichit rolls his eyes so much that he hits the back of his head on his seat. “But Ciao Ciao…I have to cover early tomorrow. Why today, too?”

“It’s not to cover a shift.” The man sighs. “I need to go over something with you. Just thirty minutes early. Is that asking too much?”

He laughs, smirking at the phone. “A little.”

“Be on time, please.”

“I’ll try.” Phichit sighs loudly, probably to make sure the other person can hear him. “See you later, then.”

The other hangs up first. I set the phone on my leg, glancing his direction. “So I guess you’ll have to go home a little earlier than planned.” I shrug. I assume the caller is his boss. He pulls into a parking lot, nestled next to a small building. When he turns the car off, our eyes meet; I’ve never seen him look this way. Is he sad? That looks like disappointment on his normally upbeat face. It’s not an expression I want to stick around. “Phichit?”

When he blinks, the storm in his eyes doesn’t clear much. “I’m really sorry, but it’s work.” He rubs the crease between his eyebrows, preparing to step out. “I feel like an asshole for showing up late, and now I have to leave early.”

Wait, he’s feeling guilty? I follow him outside and to the door of the building. “But it’s for work.” I shrug. “You can’t control that.” I hold the door open for him again, leaving the cold behind.

“I know, but I wanted to hang out with you.” Phichit pouts, grabbing a folded paper from a counter and handing me one. I see now that we're standing in some sort of diner, but don’t pay much attention to the menu. “I guess we can grab something and eat on the way back, or…ugh, I don’t even know.”

“Are you upset?”

He blinks at me, staring like I said I was going to eat the menu. “I’m…I guess I’m annoyed.”

Perhaps this isn’t the perfect first date, but I’ve had a good time so far. Does he feel differently? “Well, I’ve had fun.” The person behind the desk says something about our orders, prompting me to find something I can eat in a vehicle; their array of plastic utensils expands my options. While we order, I feel Phichit's eyes on me; when I look up, his eyes dart away. “I like being around you, and talking with you.”

His smile is something to cherish; it’s not like his other grins, brimming with light. No, this one is quiet and gentle, filling his eyes with a gleam I hope will last. “That’s really sweet of you.” Phichit goes on to mention other places he could’ve picked out here, but has a soft spot for this one. When our food is done, I reach for my wallet. “Seung Gil?”

“What?”

He lightly pushes my outstretched hand away. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it.”

“It's fine. You bought drinks earlier.”

“That was nothing, really.”

It was much more than that: he waited in line to get me rainbow jelly. I shake my head, knowing the cashier won't wait around all night. “But a date shouldn’t be all on one person. I’ll get this.” When the words leave my mouth, Phichit's falls open, but he doesn’t argue. In fact, he allows me to pay and stands there with an odd redness in his face without another word. I’m not met with a silent Phichit often, if ever, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve overstepped. I can’t wait until we get in the car, stepping over near his door to settle things. “Was…was that wrong of me?”

Phichit gently swings his plastic bag of food, eyes on the ground. “Um, no. I…thanks for that.”

Stray snowflakes start to fall, catching on his hair and eyelashes. “Yeah, no problem, but—”

“You said this was a date?”

My hands suddenly feel cold. I’ve truly fucked up, haven’t I? The last thing I wanted to do was make him uncomfortable, yet here we are. “Was…was it not?” I sound stupid. I shake my head. “Look, Phichit, I’m sorry if I…misunderstood something, but I was…” I was what? Blind with optimism? Hoping too high? “I thought that’s what this was.”

With one step, he’s close enough that I could wipe the snow from his cheekbones, the tip of his nose; I don’t, but I could. Why is he shaking his head? “Don’t be sorry.” Now he's smiling? “But if I were taking you on a date, it wouldn’t be to a pet store to run errands.” Phichit makes a good point; the thought hadn’t crossed my mind like that. “But, you know, I’m glad you had a good time thinking it was a date.” His smile fills me with warmth, unfamiliar but welcome. I think I’m smiling back, but I’m so lost in his words, I’m not really sure. “Maybe that means you’d be willing to let me take you out for real sometime?”

Oh no, I’m blushing. Can he see me turning red? I can see his flushed face, so I guess we’re both embarrassed. It’s ridiculous to feel this nervous, considering how much we’ve gotten to know each other in so little time, but I can’t help it: I’m not used to this! The longer I remain silent, the darker Phichit’s blush becomes. I think I’m giving off the wrong impression, here. I nod emphatically just to be sure I’m understood, unable to form words. He covers his laugh with one hand, shivering in the cold. “Yes. That sounds good.” I don’t want to keep him out here any longer than I need to, so I make my way to my side of the car. “Um, let’s get out of the snow.” Phichit nods in agreement and settles behind the wheel. He turns the radio on, driving down a few empty roads without saying anything more, Eros easing most of the tension from me. Phichit’s so quiet. He was asking me on a date, wasn't he? I thought he’d have more to say about that. We have never spoken of relationships or exes, but he must have an opinion on the topic. We don’t even need to talk about that kind of thing; anything would do. He could mention the change in weather and how he likes making snow angels at the radio station parking lot. If he brought up our earlier shopping trip, I'd be willing to talk about hamsters and cedar shavings. Maybe even a discussion on work with a funny anecdote or two. Any topic could save us from this stillness, but none of it comes up: we stay silent, pecking at our takeaway meals. In the dark, it’s hard to see where we’ve parked. All I know is that it looks like a park entrance past the thin veil of snow. I can practically hear every flake fall against the windshield: I can't take it any longer. “You’re being really quiet.”

It isn't a joke; it’s a simple truth, and yet he laughs. What’s so funny? “I’m sorry!” He comments after catching his breath. “Can I be super honest with you?”

His initial reaction makes me think no, but his gentle smile makes me say: “Yes.”

“When I asked if you wanted to hang out today, I was afraid you’d say no.” Phichit admits with a tiny smile. “Don’t make fun of me, but I really thought you…I don’t know. I thought you’d be polite and say we’re too different, or you’re too busy, or something. Maybe you had a real date. You could’ve been in a relationship, for all I knew. Did I ever ask you?”

Seems we overlooked something, but it doesn’t matter now. “No, but I am single.”

“Me, too.”

In case there was any doubt, I guess. Why we both felt the need to state the obvious is beyond me; we went out and said we’d do it again: no shit we’re single. I laugh at this exchange of nonsense, loving the way Phichit’s eyes light up when he laughs, too. “Glad we could settle that.”

“Yeah.” He wipes a laughter tear from the corner of one eye, grinning all the while. “I didn’t mean to go all quiet on you. I’m just surprised, I think.”

“Why?”

Phichit sighs; the sound is pleasant, tinged with something cheerful. “Well, Mr. Lee.” His eyes fall on the snow outside before continuing. “Nobody likes being denied something they want, or having their feelings rejected. I’m no exception.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint you, then.” I shrug. “I’m free this weekend.”

“I’ll take you on a proper date, then.” We share a smile before attempting to eat in the small space. When we’re not exchanging glances, our eyes are locked straight ahead. The snow has slowed to a flurry, tiny flakes swirling around like glitter caught in a draft, sparkling and shining before us. Silence this time around is comfortable and easy; I feel oddly safe and at home in this car with Phichit. It may be the first time we’ve met, but we’re not strangers. I know he only buys one brand of eyeliner and needs little signs of reassurance when his confidence wanes; he knows I buy clothes to avoid doing laundry and can’t stand a lie, especially from people I care about. There’s much more to learn, but I think it’s a great start.

Phichit drops me off in front of my apartment, agreeing to text later to make plans. I thank him for everything with a squeeze of his hand and take my leave. The snow has stopped by the time I get inside, but that doesn’t stop me from curling up with a blanket on the sofa in front of my computer. Eros concluded his show minutes ago, but the relaxed, happy aura I had earlier has almost completely faded away: Phichit’s topic tonight is grief. “I don’t know how to move on!” The sad caller explains.

“One day at a time, Heartbroken.” Phichit tells him.

“It wouldn’t be so difficult if she didn’t run off with someone else!” Heartbroken adds. I’ve never heard someone sound so distraught before. “I can hardly get up in the morning. At least when I’m asleep, I don’t have to think about her.”

I pull the blanket around my head, tugging the edges tighter. “Heartbroken, it’s alright to feel that way. I mean, I’ve had similar circumstances before, and it isn’t easy to get back to where you were, but it is possible. That makes sense, right?” Phichit’s question is responded to with a sigh. “You have to remember that your relationship, your ex, are not you; they helped shape you, but you’re more than that.”

“But some pain is too much.” I whisper to the empty room, the vacant apartment around me.

“You are a unique and special individual with traits and qualities all your own. You are worthy of love and acceptance, and the most reliable place to find that is within yourself. When you wake up in the morning, you have to remember that not everyone you meet, or date, will give you the love you deserve, and that’s okay because you can appreciate yourself as you are. Do you understand what I mean?” Phichit asks in a gentle tone.

“I get it, but…it’s hard.” Heartbroken mumbles.

I may not know the hurt this caller is describing, but I certainly know the unbearable ache inside that no person, place or thing can cure. “It certainly is, but the first step is trying, and it’ll get easier.”

“Some days I feel so angry and hurt, and the next I’ll be sad again. It feels like I’m not improving.”

“Give it time.” Phichit uses a soft tone. His caller groans. “Trust me.”

“I suppose I’ll have to. I just want to feel like myself again.”

While he helps his caller, I fumble with my phone while keeping the blanket wrapped securely in place. I start a text to Phichit, but change my mind; he’s on the air, so he may not be able to reply. He may, however, be able to take a call if I time this correctly. I dial the station’s number, breath held while my call goes to a virtual waiting room. If tonight has taught me one thing, it’s that I trust Phichit with holding onto my fears; what’s more is that I am able to trust him with them. Minutes pass before a stroke of good luck allows my call to be taken. “Hello?” My voice is quiet, breaking around the edges.

“Hello, dear caller. Who are you tonight?” Phichit asks.

“I’m…” In pain. Sad. Upset. Angry. Frustrated. Not yet healed. “Hurt.”

He hums in response. “Well, that’s no good. Can you explain why?”

My eyes fall shut. I hate the way my heart feels strangled and pinched, the way my eyes sting. “You’ve been talking about grief. Why does the pain linger for so long?”

“It’s something that changes you. Unfortunately, whatever loss you’ve had will always be a loss, but the way you handle it will get easier with time. I wish I could say the pain will go away, but I can’t lie to you. Won’t lie to you, I mean.” Phichit corrects the familiar word choice to a more professional one: he knows it’s me. “May I ask if this is a recent loss?”

“A little over a year ago.”

A pause passes, maybe Phichit thinking about me as Seung Gil and not as Hurt. I’ve put him in a strange situation, seeking comfort for something quite personal, under the guise of being an anonymous stranger. “I see. Well, Hurt, as I said earlier, we all handle grief differently. One thing that you may find helpful is to not push thoughts and memories of this person aside to try and move on. When you think of them, remember them; don’t let them leave your thoughts and celebrate that you had this person in your life to begin with. They’ve added their own touch to your life, and that’s something that will never go away.”

“It’s not a person.” I use a corner of the blanket to wipe the trails that have made their mark down my face. “Not a person, but I understand, P.”

I try not to think about my loss, and I admit that. It’s hard to think about someone you love with everything you have in you when you know you won’t see them again. I try so hard not to think of him, of my best friend, because when I do, my heart shatters. Is it possible to tackle that broken feeling and turn it into being grateful to have known him at all? “Sometimes the loss of a nonhuman friend can hurt just as much. Your hurt is valid, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

Nobody has ever told me that. My family knew of this loss, but it was clear that they didn’t understand it like I did: pain fucking hurts. End of story. “Thank you.” My phone beeps in my ear, alerting me of a notification: a text from Phichit.

“I hope you don’t forget to cherish your good memories, and remember that it’s healthy to feel your grief.” Phichit goes on to see if I need anything more so he can conclude our call. It’s all white noise when I read his text: ‘I’m so sorry :((((( I wouldn’t have asked you to go to a pet store if I’d known!!’ He doesn’t need to feel bad; I didn’t tell him about what happened to my dog, and I truly wanted to spend time with him earlier, location be damned. It’s comforting to know that he would’ve supported me had he known about it.

After I hang up, I can reply: ‘I don’t like to talk about it. I just wanted to hang out with you.’

‘What made you decide to tell me now?’

My sniffling has stopped, but my eyes continue to water with sorrow. ‘You were talking about grief, and I wanted some advice…it’s why I called you the first time.’ I don’t want him to start guessing and conjecturing, so I quickly explain. ‘He died a year ago last month and I tried to drink the pain away. Then I took my emotions out on you. I shouldn’t have called like I did and I’m sorry.’ It was asinine of me to have called his show, but at least now he knows why I did it.

‘Ohhhh…I understand :((( Glad you called so we could meet and be friends and everything, tho’

I suppose it is a good thing I called; I may have missed out on Phichit. A ragged sigh breaks the quiet that fell over me. I wipe my eyes again, sitting on the edge of the sofa. ‘That’s true. I just want him here and it’s hard to accept that I can’t.’

‘You do have him! He’ll always be with you on the inside. Don’t forget him, Seung Gil’

When I don’t reply right away, a flood of heart emoji fills my inbox. My chest hurts more than I can describe, but Phichit’s right: I wouldn’t trade the time we had together for anything in the world, and I know he loved his life, too. I make my way to the kitchen, staring down the flipped images I stuck to the fridge long ago. One of them, my favorite one, is at eye level towards the right side. Carefully, I pull it from under the magnet, flipping it to reveal the photo I took of us at a park: dogs can’t smile, but I swear, he’s grinning with me. One by one, I flip the pictures so I can see him again. When they’re up properly, I press my fingers to my favorite picture, smiling through my tears. “I miss you.” My voice sounds unfamiliar and tired, but steady at the same time. I have to thank Phichit; I don't know where to begin. I send a single heart emoji back, hoping he somehow understands exactly what he’s done for me tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SORRY I MADE THE DOG DEAD but it made sense for this specific AU, and I promise I won't make any other character or pet dead! In other news, I finally came up with the title for this fic while writing this chapter. I normally have titles down after drafting plot points, before any writing even gets done, but struggled with this one for some reason. It was called one thing, then another and another but nothing ever felt right. The next chapter will go back to Phichit’s POV and it absolutely will not be sad!


	7. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cried writing the end of the last chapter, so this one had to be happy hahha I was slightly self-indulgent and I make no apologies for it; fluff is life. By the way, do y'all like playing pool? I first started playing in university: don’t hit the eight-ball and try to only hit your designated balls, either solids or stripes. I bring this up for reasons XD You’ll see! It’s a little longer again, so there you go~

Yesterday could have been so awkward, but I’m grateful to all things holy that it wasn’t. I know it’s my own fault for putting myself in that position, but still. Yuuri and I were waiting for Mila and Yuri to finish their shift since we planned a lunch weeks ago; I know I can be a bit cranky when I’m sleepy, but I agreed to go at that hour anyway. I was telling Yuuri about my upcoming date in the breakroom, bragging about how sweet and smart Seung Gil is. When Yuuri asked about what Seung Gil looks like, referring to him as my boyfriend, I may have spoken about the matter too loudly: Celestino knocked on the doorframe with this look of confusion on his face. Yuuri scanned me for any signs on what he should do, slightly red from being caught in the middle. He excused himself, leaving me alone with our boss. I’ve been alone with the man many times, but it felt vastly different from before: there was a weird tension floating around, and it made me uneasy.

Celestino asked about my current boyfriend, slightly offended he hadn’t been informed. Maybe offended isn’t the right word; I guess he was a little irritated, or something. Seeing him there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, reminded me that he’s my boss above all else; emotions and impulses need to be set aside.

I explained that, technically, I didn’t have a boyfriend yet. My pending date was mentioned, and my desire to move forward with Seung Gil was made crystal clear: “I’m hoping he’ll become my boyfriend soon.” Now, Celestino isn’t a kid; he knows how relationships work and knows that flings sometimes can only be just that. I wasn’t expecting him to whine and try to get me to change my mind, or anything, but telling your boss that you can’t spend any more nights with him because of another man isn’t a fun conversation. He laughed, nodding his head, and told me that he was happy for me and wished me the best.

“So, I take it we’ll actually have to sit through office parties now instead of sneaking off.”

Those were Celestino’s words, spoken with amusement and chased with a laugh. I mean, it’s hardly sneaking off when everyone at the station knew about our arrangement, but I laughed with him, nodding a confirmation. A few years ago, I knew hopping into bed with my boss wasn’t necessarily the smartest life decision, especially using the attention as a means to move on from my ex. I also knew that it wasn’t forever, and so did Ciao Ciao. I think that’s why we never got attached and kept things to only sex and office flirting. I reminded him that I don’t know what the future looks like; he reminded me that he’ll always be a friend if I need anything. Ease washed over me then, glad Celestino didn’t make things weird or difficult for either of us. Yuuri came back at that point, mentioning that Mila and Yuri were ready to go. Before leaving, I gave Ciao Ciao a kiss on the cheek and thanked him for being so kind to me: all he’s done is treat me well, both as a boss and as a lover.

Since then, I’ve felt nothing but excitement: I have a date with an awesome person who is actually looking forward to seeing me. What could be better? My arrangement with Ciao Ciao was fun and all, but it wasn’t exactly fulfilling; we didn’t hang out much, and while we are friends, there was never any romance. The ex I used him to get over was absurdly romantic. Well, until he went back on the road for his modeling. We could never see eye to eye on what a committed relationship means, and sometimes it felt like he’d rather be anywhere but around me. With Seung Gil, my words feel heard, my presence valued. While I get ready to meet up with him, I have Yuuri on video chat; I think he can see my enthusiasm. “What’re you going to wear? You said this wasn’t a formal thing.” He’s sitting on the floor with a light pen in his free hand.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I laugh at his amused expression, setting my hairbrush down. “What the hell are you doing to that cat?”

Yuuri doesn’t have the best luck with cats; I think they can sense that he’s a dog lover, or something, but while he’s hanging out at Yuri’s house, he has to find a way to play nice. He turns his phone so I can see Yuri’s precious cat hunting down the beam of light on the floor wherever it goes. Yuuri moves the light’s point in a circle, making the cat do an odd dance and sending him into a fit of laughter. A familiar voice in the background shouts: “Are you torturing my fucking cat again?” Yuri is very protective of his pet, Potya.

“We’re playing!” Yuuri defends with an eye roll, returning to the camera’s view. “Anyway, don’t stay out too late. You promised to be early to Victor’s birthday lunch.”

“Like I’d miss his party.”

He shrugs, still smiling. “This guy seems pretty special to you, so I’d understand if something came up.” My best friend is too selfless sometimes, I swear.

“Yuuri, no man will get in the way of our events.” I contemplate what I should do with my face: makeup, or natural? Subtle, or dramatic? I ask Yuuri these questions, taking his advice on keeping things light and fun before I notice that time has passed faster than I realized. “Shit, I’m taking too long! I gotta go.” I haven’t even gotten dressed yet! Yuuri laughs at my expense, but I don’t have time to scold him.

“Have a good time. Don’t forget your coat.”

“I won’t. Thanks for helping out! I’ll text you later.” I manage to grab a patterned tee from off a hanger while ending the call and kicking my sweats to the floor at once. Cardigan? Flannel? Chambray? Seung Gil won’t care, but there’s no way I’m going on a first date looking like a scrub. The ticking clock lights a fire under my ass until I’m out the door, shouting a farewell to my hamsters on the way out. Winter has been treating us fairly well so far: a flurry or two, winds have settled down, no storms yet. Yesterday did leave us with a few inches, though, still fluffy on the ground. Clouds are threatening snow on my way to the edge of the city, but I don’t mind. I don’t even feel the low temperature hit me when I park and shut the car off, glancing around for my date. I think he may have left a message on my phone, but I’ll check it after I get a few pictures; I’ll decide which selfie I like the best later: (hashtag) datenight

Seung Gil’s text reads: ‘I’ll wait out front.’

I don’t know why he insists on subjecting himself to standing outside in freezing temperatures, but he seems to have his mind made up on the matter. Seung Gil must be around the other corner because I don’t see him from in my car. With one last look at my reflection, I step out and search for him. As predicted, he’s around the other side: one shoulder leaning against the brick building, one foot crossed in front of the other, eyes trailing the printed words in his book; it’s a new one from the last time I saw him. I still have this weight on my chest from dragging him to the pet store, not knowing about his late dog. I want to apologize, but the words freeze on my tongue when I see him up close: his cheeks and the tip of his nose are tinted pink, broadcasting just how long he’s been outside. He looks adorable under his knit cap! When he sees me, he marks his page and tucks the book in his bag. Without thought, I toss my arms over his shoulders in a hug. Seung Gil doesn’t move, and it has just now occurred to me that he may not be a hugging type of person. Ugh, what was I thinking? I pull back enough to look him in the eye. “Sorry. Can I hug you?”

Seung Gil slightly smiles, arching an eyebrow. “I think you’re already doing that.”

I roll my eyes, not hearing a no. “I had to ask! You weren’t hugging back.” I resume my embrace, shocked at how warm he feels. What shocks me even more is how his arms wrap around me in turn, hands on my back calming me and disrupting my nerves at the same time.

“Just surprised.”

When did I start holding my breath? I exhale into the hug, remembering why I felt the need to in the first place. “Look, I know I said sorry already and you said I didn’t need to apologize, but if I’d known about your loss, I never would’ve made you come with me to the store.” The words spill out before I can sort them properly. “I’m sorry to have put you through that, and send you to a bad place again.” We haven’t talked about it since Monday evening, but it’s been nagging at me! Whether he likes it or not, I need to express my regret. I feel him sigh without a sound.

“Phichit, it’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but I want you to know that if I had known, things would’ve gone differently.”

Even though we’ve only known each other for, like, six weeks, I need him to know that I care about him and his feelings; it’s important. We stay quiet only a moment longer before Seung Gil speaks again. “We're still hugging.” His tone is soft, feather light near my ear.

“Should…should we stop?” I laugh.

“If we want to go inside.”

Oh, right. I laugh again, pulling away with an eye roll. “Fine, fine. Let’s head in.” His hand fits so well in mine; he doesn’t let go when I drag him behind me and into the building. “Have you been here before?” I ask over my shoulder, scanning the room for a clear path towards the bar at the back. This place isn’t the typical bar, either: it’s also an arcade. Various games line the walls from simple pinball machines to simulators and shooters. The few times that I dragged Yuuri out here, we tried to play every game and failed miserably; there’s too much to do in one night! Luckily it’s not too crowded tonight: a bonus of snowy weather.

“No, never.” Seung Gil squeezes my hand when we get to the counter. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

He paid for food last time, so it’s my turn this time. “There’s a menu up there.” I point at the chalkboard covered in pastel letters. “I’m buying, so get whatever you want.” Somehow, he isn't convinced: one eyebrow is raised with skepticism. It makes me laugh. “I’m serious! You can get the next time.” Because, yes, I’m hoping there will be more dates in the future. Maybe he does, too, since he’s deciding what he wants to eat and drink. I flag down a bartender when we're ready, shouting what we want and where we'll be: “East Room!”

Again, Seung Gil is confused: “What room?”

My favorite place in the whole bar: the pool lounge. Beyond the swinging doors at the far right are rows of pool tables in a rainbow of colors. One wall is lined with cues and chalk, hung up in neat lines like brickwork. Against another wall is a sticky countertop accessible from all tables, old coasters and half eaten food strewn around. The music is quieter in here and the chatter isn’t deafening, even when it's crowded. “This is the East Room!” I beeline to the equipment wall, Seung Gil in tow. We set our coats on the counter in a pile. “It's not so lively back here, but it’s still fun.” While we chalk, I remember the last time I played; the game ended when I knocked a ball off the table and it hit a stranger in the leg. I laugh nervously. “I’m actually not that good, but I have a good time.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He shrugs. Yeah, I’m not bad. After a few minutes, however, it becomes wildly apparent that he’s much better at this than I am. It’s like he’s a pro with ridiculous precision. During our second game, I end up hitting the eight-ball while simultaneously pocketing one of his: an automatic loss featuring insult upon injury. “You said you’ve played before?”

I make a face at his tone, laughing in spite of myself. “Yes, Mr. Lee, I have. I’ve just never been up against a professional.”

Our food is waiting on the counter: perfect time for a break. Seung Gil tosses his hat with his jacket, ruffling his hair in that adorable, messy-on-purpose way. He smirks over his drink, dark eyes shining. “First time for everything.” He smiles at my laugh; his smile is contagious: a small dimple forms in one cheek, the corners of his eyes slightly crinkle and it's impossible not to grin in return. Most people would probably miss it, but it's clear as day when you know what to look for. “It's just geometry and good aim, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” I sigh. “Geometry sucks, and isn’t what I’d call easy."

“Not for everyone, I guess.”

“I’m better with words than numbers.” It's not like I failed all my math classes in school, or anything. Okay, just one, but words have always come naturally to me; I guess for Seung Gil, numbers are his words. “Question: do you think you could do me a solid?”

“Do you want a bite?”

…that’s not what I had in mind, but his food does look good. “I mean, yeah, kinda, but that’s not what I—"

“No, not as the favor; I was just offering.” Seung Gil explains, pushing his plate closer to me. “I’m sorry for interrupting. Continue.” Knowing how possessive he can be at the table, I’m polite and keep my sampling to a minimum. He told me himself that he doesn’t like to share food; it’s a small honor that he offered, so I return the favor.

“Thank you.” I pat his hand. He nods, too busy drinking to respond another way. “So, when we're done, do you think you could teach me how to play better?”

Seung Gil blinks at me for a second, nodding. “Y-yeah, of course. I’ll help you.”

Our pool table is the orange one this time, the purple one now occupied by a large group of newcomers intent on playing a very serious game with minimal noise. I try to keep their presence in mind, remembering to not be too obnoxious and keep my courtesy intact. Seung Gil lets me break. “Solids.” I nod, acknowledging the style I knocked in a pocket.

“Stripes.” Seung Gil steps up beside me, eyes on the scattered balls. “Which one do you want to try for?”

His cologne is distinct and undeniably delicious, but that’s got nothing to do with what he said. It’s hard to not notice when he’s standing so close, his shoulder only inches away from mine. I fiddle with the hem on my sleeve; Seung Gil makes me nervous at the oddest moments, I swear. “Um, the six-ball.”

He nods, walking over to the table to point at the cue ball. “Where are you thinking of making contact?”

I exhale when I remind myself he means with the ball and not with him. “I guess here.” I point with my cue, giving more thought to hiding my blushing face than giving an answer.

“How hard do you want to go?”

Okay, I can’t keep a straight face with that one; I can’t! Seung Gil cracks a small, crooked smile while I laugh like a twelve-year-old who discovered a new dirty word. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I straighten up, ignoring the glares the people at the purple table are sending my way. Seung Gil doesn’t seem to notice them, thankfully.

“You good?” He asks when I remember my age. I nod, ready to resume our pool lesson. His smile is a breath of fresh air: no judgement and no embarrassment over my childish reaction. Does he have to be gracious and not harass me over acting dumb? Does he have to be generous and teach me to not be laughably bad at pool? No; no to both of those. Seung Gil is sweet, though, and I’m not used to that. My exes never treated me horribly, but they didn’t walk around with this quiet kindness and offer it to me without question. Even after I screw up on one of his instructions, Seung Gil patiently suggests I try again and skips his turn. I’m not sure how the scrutinizing stares from over at the purple table go unnoticed by him every time we laugh too loud; I certainly don’t miss them, but it’s easy to ignore when I get a front row seat to Seung Gil’s smile. When I struggle to get an angle just right, he steps behind me and adjusts my aim. “Like this.” Seung Gil’s hands on my arms are light and gentle; his chest barely presses against my back, but it’s enough to feel his warmth. “See?” He explains the whole geometry thing again with angles and such. I nod, taking his words in. Each smile and word of encouragement fills me with little butterflies. How great was this date idea? I know I’m having fun and I’d be shocked if Seung Gil wasn’t, going by his constant smirk.

“How are you doing?” I ask, rearranging the balls in the triangle.

For a second, I think maybe he doesn’t hear me: he chalks his cue with such focus, off in his own world. Then his eyes level with mine for less than a second before darting away. “I’m, uh…I'm pretty good. I'm having a good night here, with you.”

There isn’t a better answer he could give, I don’t think. I can’t form a response aside from a goofy grin I don’t try holding back. “I’m glad.”

“You?”

“Hm?”

He takes a step closer. “How are you, Phichit?”

If I say I’m in the process of falling for him, he’ll surely run away, so I won’t say that. I repeat his question for the sake of stalling to come up with a real answer. “How am I?” Seung Gil nods and takes the liberty of breaking the triangle of balls. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being high on life and zero being all time low, I’d say I’m at a solid eight.”

“Can we get to ten before the night is over?”

I don’t know what's more surprising: Seung Gil's question or Seung Gil's expression. This man can go from bashful to sultry in a flash; with such wicked eyes and dangerous smile, he could make a man reckless and stupid and I am just that type of man. My face heats up with a light flush while the rest of me grasps for words. “I guess we'll find out.” I laugh. What’s more amusing is that I don’t even think he knows he’s being cute; I think he just acts like himself and that’s probably the most attractive thing about his flirting: it's effortless, even accidental. The rest of our time at the pool table is spent in a closer match than the first, but I still lose.

“You did a lot better that time.” Seung Gil chuckles.

“Then why are you laughing?”

He shakes his head, covered by his hat again. “Impressed, I guess.” We rack our equipment back on the wall. “You’re a fast learner.”

I shrug, taking his hand. “Maybe you’re a good teacher.” Yes, I notice him threading his fingers with mine. No, I don’t have self control and squeeze his hand with joy. Seung Gil scoffs and follows me out of the room.

“Hardly.”

“What do you mean? You’re super patient and explain things really well. You'd probably make a great teacher, or something.”

He shakes his head. “It's easy with you. You’re one person, and you’re not stupid.” Oh, how flattering. “With a group…I mean, that’s multiple people. People can be dumb as shit, and I don’t have time for that.”

At first I laugh; his candor can be hilarious. When I give his comment more thought, though, it kind of makes me sad. “People can be dumb, but it’s not on purpose.”

“I know. They can also be annoying and rude and insensitive.”

“You mean human.”

Just so he knows I'm not trying to be confrontational, I give his hand an extra squeeze. He squeezes back with a silent sigh. “I could never be a teacher.”

Well, that’s fine; I’m not looking to change Seung Gil or his career, so I drop the subject. We find a few vacant games on our way out and try our hands at playing against each other; he’s a good sport when he loses, and doesn’t brag when he wins. He doesn’t complain when I stop to take selfies, either, and I'm guilty of taking too many. When we find a game that’s single player, we take turns cheering the other on. I’m worse at backseat gaming than he is, but he just says my name and I take the hint. At no point do I slip into a bad mood. If that’s not a successful date, I don’t want to know what is!

The frozen air hits me like a slap in the face when we get outside. In addition to the small snowflakes, the difference in temperature sucks the air from my lungs. “Ugh, winter, I forgot you were out here.” I laugh, roaming off to the side of the building.

“Where are you going?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Just around.”

“Wait for me.” Seung Gil quickly resumes his stride next to me, making tracks in the snow. “Do you like wine?”

“I do. Do you?”

“Red.” He asks if I’ve been to a specific lounge in town. “You probably have, but they have really good wine there.”

It wasn’t a place I could afford in school, but those days are long gone. “Yeah, they do. I’ll have to try one of their reds next time.” I crouch down, absently gathering snow in a little pile. The sting of the cold is almost too much, but I don’t mind.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“No, unfortunately.” I pout, rounding out the pile into something like a ball. “I have a friend's party I can’t miss. My best friend's husband, to be exact, but I promised I’d help set up and stuff.” Did that sound like a rejection? Seung Gil is looking off towards the parking lot, not at me. “What about next Saturday? Are you free then?” Ah, now I have his attention! He nods, crouching near me, fingers making abstract patterns in the snow.

“Yeah. Can I take you there at eight?”

So formal; I already assumed I was going. “I’d like that.” We share a smile, snow drifting over us.

His eyes land on my work in progress. “What’re you doing?”

I roll a ball of snow and pack more on to get it the right size. “Making a snowman. Want to help?”

“Maybe.” Seung Gil licks his lips, staring my creation down. “I’ve never made one before.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs, copying my movements to make a ball of his own. “Never had the opportunity. I didn’t play outside when I was little, and I’ve never had a yard or anything.”

“Okay, well, it’s easy. I’ll show you.” I help him even out the shape so he has a round ball that fits in both of his hands. Mine is bigger, placed on the pile I gathered earlier. “Put yours on top for its head.” Seung Gil does as directed and makes damn sure that it's centered perfectly before standing to his feet. I take a few pictures, laughing at the small sculpture. “It's so cute! We should make a bigger one after it really snows.” He helps me up, taking both of my hands in his.

“That sounds fun.” Seung Gil nods, tugging me towards closer. His fingers are remarkably mobile considering we were just playing in the snow. A chilly breeze makes me shiver, his hands inching up to my shoulders. “Are you cold?”

One would think the falling flakes would be a giveaway, but Seung Gil is one of a kind. “Well, it is snowing.”

“Here.” There’s no room to protest or insist that he’s cold, too: he plucks the hat from his head and fits it on mine. He makes such a serious face while adjusting it, I can’t help but laugh. “You need it more than I do, I think.” Seung Gil mutters and returns to gripping my shoulders without force. He opens his mouth to speak, only to scan my face in silence. Last time I checked, I looked pretty good in hats but can feel myself turning red under his stare. I wish he’d say what he’s thinking instead of driving me crazy.

“What is it?” I cover his hands with mine, finally getting him to look me in the eye.

The weather may be cold, but I know that sudden redness in Seung Gil’s face has a different source. He casts his eyes towards our feet and I only now realize I’m holding my breath. “Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You’re just…” An oddly brash tenderness swirls in his eyes when he looks up again; it makes me gasp, taken back by the intensity. “You’re just really beautiful. You’re many things, but that one seems to stand out right now.”

What a sweet thing to say! I know I must be grinning like a spoiled child, but nothing could make me hold it back in this moment. “Awww, thank you.” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to, nearly a whisper.

Seung Gil is so close now, holding me in warm arms almost against him. “Can I kiss you?”

Be still, my trembling heart. “Yes.”

His hand trails up my arm to my jaw, gaze fixed on my mouth. His thumb brushes my lower lip and sends my heart racing: I’m met with a ghost of a kiss that vanishes as quickly as it arrived. It's not enough contact, but it sure as hell leaves me wanting more; there's got to be more. When our lips meet again, I melt in Seung Gil's hands and lean into his touch wherever I can. It isn’t all softness, either: there's undeniable intensity here. I can feel it in his steady grip, the firmness of his mouth on mine while the rest of me comes to terms with losing my mind over a simple kiss. Yeah, it’s one fucking kiss and I’m set on fire and addicted. I think maybe it’s because I’ve never been handled this way; no quick burst that burns out after a moment of pleasure. This is simmering, something wonderfully warm that promises to end in ashes if treated properly. My fingers tug at his coat collar, obliterating any remaining space between us. Seung Gil makes me forget that it's snowing until I shiver from head to toe. “Phichit.” He finds room to get out one hushed word. My name sounds like lust.

“Hm?” There’s no need to take my mouth from his; not when I’ve caught him with his lips parted.

“You're cold.”

So what? I’d stand in any weather if it meant more of these kisses. I’d love to keep indulging like this, but Seung Gil’s tone carries concern and I can’t ignore that. “Yeah, but you’re warm.” Especially when his arms are wrapped around me: don’t mind if I do! I hug him, much like when I first saw him today. “I’m okay.”

Seung Gil squeezes me tighter, chest rising and falling on a lengthy exhale. “You should get out of the cold. We both should.”

“But you’re a good kisser.”

“You have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

Damn it to hell, he’s right. Why does he have to be right at a time like this? “Of all the times to be right, did you have to pick now?” I groan, pressing my forehead into his shoulder. He laughs and rubs my back in little circles.

“Without twenty hours of sleep, you don’t function well.”

“I think you mean eight hours.”

He ignores me: “It's getting late, and you have plans.”

I ignore him in turn. “Maybe we can meet up in the middle of the week. Something casual between work.” Any excuse to see him, really. Seung Gil doesn’t push me away or protest; he hums in thought.

“Why?”

Hit pause: I’m lost. What does he mean? A little laugh escapes me, confused. “Why what? Why do I want to see you?” I ask. His nodding is only more baffling. “Because I like spending time with you. You’re fun and interesting, and not bad on the eyes.” Seung Gil turns slightly away, hiding his blush.

“I mean, we have a date next week, too.”

“Seung Gil.” I turn his face to look at me, still slightly confused but getting a feeling where this is going. “If you don’t want to see me again until our date, I could probably work around that. I’d like you to know, though, that we don’t have to only go on dates and we're still going to be friends even while dating. Instead of assuming anything, I’d like it if you could consider your wants and then ask about mine.”

“Are you counseling me?”

Honestly, I wasn’t trying to, but sometimes I can’t help it. “Not on purpose.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

A response doesn’t come right away: Seung Gil takes a deep breath first and places a hand over mine, still on his cheek. “I want to see you more than once a week. Being around you doesn’t wear me out, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need more of that.” I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m flattered and relieved, but also a tiny bit sad. Do people really bother Seung Gil that much? He grips my hand, blinking. “Is that okay?”

Most of my concern fades as my smile grows; this man is simply too cute. “Yeah. I’ll text you when I’m free tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.”

Seung Gil Lee is not like anyone I’ve met before. He's himself and doesn’t try to be anyone else; it feels like he understands where I’m coming from almost inherently; we can talk about anything and laugh over things other people roll their eyes at; he's brilliant without an ounce of pretension or arrogance. It's exciting to know that there's so much more about him I’ve yet to discover. He walks me to my car, hugging me once we get there. “I had a great night with you.” I sneak in a quick kiss, direct and light. “It was a real ten.”

He laughs at my joke, planting a kiss of his own. “Good to know. I had fun tonight, too. You make a good date.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Lee.” I don’t want to let him go, but the promise of more to come makes it easier to let go. Well, after a lingering kiss, that is. “Next time, we should carpool. It sucks having to drive off separately.”

He nods, not stepping back to leave. “That can be arranged. Will you let me know when you get home?”

“I will. You text me, too.”

“This isn't a race, is it?”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Of course not. Be safe, okay?”

“You, too.”

Again, he doesn’t walk away. It’s hard to leave something good behind, even if you know you’ll come back again for more soon. One last kiss ends our date, sending us both on our way home while the snow continues to fall in sprinkles. I’m not sure how tonight will end: contentedly sleepy with good vibes thrumming through me or wired from excitement over what an amazing night I had. Either way, I know my thoughts will be occupied by Seung Gil and I’m completely cool with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss winter SO MUCH Orz I’m getting hella mileage on my folding fan, though hahha Hope everyone liked the update! It was fun to write :3 The next chapter is where the rating for this story comes into play, so get ready for that. There’s a lot of dialogue, but also inner monologue, if that makes sense XD See you next week, and thanks again for reading!


	8. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another date night! This date is different from the last one but it’s still groovy and stuff. Some webcomics were very inspiring for this chapter; I won’t mention any names here, but they are romantic in nature hahha I also get inspired from reading fanfics in other fandoms. For some reason, I struggle to read YoI fanfic while writing it, regardless of pairing; it’s kinda annoying but oh well XD Hope yous enjoy~

Last week, I wasn’t prepared in a timely manner to go out and almost made myself late. This time, I’m not going to let that happen, especially since Seung Gil is picking me up. I’ve already narrowed my wardrobe down to two outfits to pick from while the rest of me is ready to go. Yuuri and Mila are analyzing both options through a video call, inching so close to the camera they’re obstructing each other’s view. “Can you hold it up closer? I can’t tell if that’s black or blue.” Mila narrows her eyes at the hanger in my left hand, practically shoving Yuuri off her small sofa.

With an eye roll, I move it towards my phone on the dresser. “It’s black! I already said that.”

“I still like that one more.” Yuuri nods.

Mila taps her chin with a small frown. “I don’t know, Yuuri. I kinda like the other one.” She refers to my deep v-neck shirt I’ve paired with a velvet blazer; its maroon tone seems like a Mila color, so I’m not surprised she favors it.

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, I’m going with the lace.” The black top is a long sleeve mockneck; the solid fabric stops just above the chest, lace constructing the upper portion.

“Why? It looks itchy.” Mila scrunches her nose in distaste.

“Phichit, is it itchy?”

“It is not itchy.” I answer Yuuri's question with certainty. I’ve worn the black shirt before and neither the lace neck nor the lace sleeves bothered me in the slightest. He side-eyes Mila who rolls her bright blue eyes in response.

“But you can’t go wrong with a blazer!”

“Mila, this date is not a tee and blazer kind of function.” Yuuri adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, smirking. “It's their second real date.”

She doesn’t look fully convinced, pouting at me through the phone. “Phichit.”

“Yes?”

“Which one are you going with? We need to put an end to this wardrobe debate.”

Before I called them, I wasn’t leaning either direction. However, after Yuuri pointed out the location minutes ago, I started to favor one outfit over the other. At one point, I took Mila's comments into consideration: velvet is everything right now, and my collarbone isn't something I should hide. When I think of Seung Gil sitting across from me at a formal table, smirk showing and eyes shining, I know the image I want him to see in return: “I love you both, but…I’m going with the lace.” I hang the other items back up as Yuuri grins and Mila sighs.

“You win, Yuuri.” She elbows him without much force.

Yuuri nods once. “He wins ‘cause he gets to look cute.”

“Awww.” I change offscreen, even though they’ve both seen me change before. “You’re both the best!” My only issue with this shirt is the fastening: a column of buttons up the back of my neck are within reach, but blindly buttoning all three takes concentration. I think I had Yuuri help me with them the last time I wore this, but I manage on my own this time. In the mirror, my reflection radiates confidence: I stand by my choice!

“Okay, it does look really good on. I want it. Do you think it'd fit me?” Mila has the nerve to ask. She's apparently forgotten about the last thing she borrowed from my closet.

I touch up my hair again, brushing it to the side. “Um, have we forgotten about the polka dot hoodie that came back with lipstick on the collar and zipper?” Her laugh is enough of an answer; this bitch knows what she did. Before I can give her more hell, my phone alerts me of a text: Seung Gil must be here! I don’t even bother checking the message, scrambling to stand and find my clutch. “That’s him. I’ve gotta go.” Where did I leave my shoes? Did I put them by the door with my coat? “Thank you both for your help!”

“No problem, boo.” Mila winks.

“Of course. Have a good time and let me know how their reds are.” Yuuri reminds me. I nod, saying my goodbyes again and leaving the apartment. Seung Gil said he’s parked by the front, but that could mean anywhere. A quick scan of the parking lot leads me right to him: not too far from the door, which is wonderful because the maintenance guy doesn’t salt the sidewalks very well. Seung Gil steps out of the car, holding a hand out for me to take. Maybe he noticed my determined walk, or maybe I was obviously struggling or he’s simply being chivalrous; whatever the reason, I take his hand and stand toe to toe with him in the cold. He places a quick kiss on my cheek and squeezes my hand.

“Evening, Phichit.” Seung Gil smiles. “I’m glad to see you.”

How can I do anything but smile at that? “Glad to see you, too, Mr. Lee.” We did see each other a few days ago; we went food shopping and shared a pizza after he clocked off and before I clocked on. Our schedules don’t align perfectly, but I think we have a good thing going so far.

In the car, Seung Gil turns the heater up before leaving the lot. “Are you cold?”

“I’m alright.” My coat is lightweight yet really warm. “Did you ever find out what was wrong with your thermostat?”

He told me that his apartment was frozen over this morning, the thermostat not communicating to the heater to turn on. “No." Seung Gil sighs. “I’ll probably have to wait for Monday. Pray for me.” His tone is so deadpan, I laugh louder than I mean to. “Are you hungry?”

“I am.”

The lounge is nestled between expensive apartments that could eat my home for breakfast and a kitschy boutique that specializes in accessories and home goods. I didn’t realize the middle building was a restaurant and lounge the first time I passed it; I was looking for a set of drawers to put on my dresser and walked right by to the boutique. It’s not like I could’ve afforded to even get a drink there at the time, but I like to know what businesses are where for future reference. It wasn’t until years later that I actually went inside. I’d finished my first year of supervised sessions when a group of people at work invited me to celebrate an occasion I no longer remember. Since they offered to pay, I jumped at the opportunity; I mean, debt is quite limiting in restaurant selections so of course I was glad to be invited. Walking in the door, this nagging feeling at the back of my mind kept reminding me that I was out of place; what business did I have tagging along in my synthetic tie and off-brand jacket? Don’t get it twisted: I had fun, but I knew I never would’ve seen the place's interior had it not been for that invitation. My ex never took me places like this, either; we never really did anything formal, mostly clubbing or partying in large groups. I haven't really had a reason to come back.

Seung Gil loops his arm through mine, stepping over the threshold. I can’t vouch for what his exact thoughts are, but he looks quite comfortable in this environment. He’s been here at least twice, I know, but his confidence is reassuring. This all feels…right, like I honestly belong here with Seung Gil. He doesn’t flinch at being out in public with me and even smiles when I squeeze his arm. Someone takes our coats and guides us to the lounge at the back, seating us at a round table off to the side. We’re informed that the performance will start in fifteen minutes.

“Wait, what?”

“About what?” Seung Gil leans forward, arms folded on the table. I gesture at the stage, peeking at the wine list. “The stage?”

“Someone’s going to sing for us?”

He smiles all the way up to his eyes. “Yes. It’s a lounge with lounge singers. Didn’t you say you’ve been here before?”

I nod, turning back to look at the stage. The house band is still setting up. “I was at the bar that time. I didn’t even know this was a thing.” Little white lights drip from the raised platform, twinkling every few seconds. The lighting is otherwise dim around us to promote an intimate vibe that doesn’t escape my attention. Our orders are quickly taken along with some others in the room; all the tables are filled with what look to be solely couples. “Wow, it’s full.” I think aloud. Seung Gil nods but remains silent. His eyes are stuck to me like glue, wordlessly staring. It makes me laugh and, I’ll admit, slightly blush. “What?”

“Sorry.” He sits up straight, fiddling with his napkin. “You look amazing, that’s all.”

Those words aren’t nothing: they take the breath right out of my lungs and hammer my heart against my chest. How can one compliment cause such a reaction? I’m not the flushing, flustered type, yet here we are. “Amazing?” I laugh nervously while he sits there in a fitted shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing smooth skin above his chest; his navy blue jacket shows off well-toned arms that make me wonder what he does in his free time. “Says the handsome man sewn into his clothes.”

“It was tailored for a wedding.” Seung Gil’s face turns a pretty shade of pink as his mouth turns up in a small smile most people probably wouldn’t notice. I love making him smile like that, almost like it's a secret between us. “You don’t have to compliment me back, by the way.”

I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Only say things you truly mean. Don’t feel obligated.”

Our wine arrives just in time; I need a moment. After a polite sip, I rest my chin in my hand and wait for Seung Gil's eyes to find mine. “I think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t waste my breath on embellishments. Lying and faking are two things I never do, not even to keep up appearances. If I tell you you look good, I mean just that.”

He takes a second to taste his own wine, sipping in thought. “Have I offended you?”

“Only slightly.” I smirk, again being honest. “Tell me: do you think you’re good looking?”

If his silence wasn’t answer enough, the weight of it surely is. He even shifts his eyes away from me and tightens his grip on his glass. “What difference does that make?”

“Seung Gil.” Saying his name gets his attention; I silently dare him to look away. “I don’t know who told you or made you feel like you’re not a ten, but believe me when I say you’re a total babe.” I mean, I certainly think so. Even if I didn’t know the smart, sweet man Seung Gil is, I’d still stop and take another look at him in passing. “You might want to get used to me saying you’re handsome. I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to stop.” It's the truth, but it makes him laugh, red in the face.

“I don’t know what to say.” And I appreciate the honesty. “I don’t…I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“Can't imagine why, but you’re stuck with me now, and I’ll say it…” Um, did I just insert myself into his life in a committed sort of way? I think I might've gotten presumptuous and spoke for both of us without asking. I know my face is turning red, even if I try to play it cool. I clear my throat, sitting up straight. “I mean…if you want me to. Like, if you'd like to have me around.” Am I making sense? My brain is no longer working as it should, and I wish it was the wine but it's my own nerves and insecurities getting the best of me. If only Seung Gil would say something and throw me a lifeline, I could remember how to breathe again. “Sorry, I don’t—”

“Phichit, please.” His voice is almost inaudible, making me work to find it. “Don’t apologize. You haven’t said anything wrong.” Seung Gil sure knows how to stop my heart. I could lose myself in those eyes for days, searing through my unease. “We’re together, and in each other’s lives, right?”

I nod, tension slowly draining from me. “I’d like to think so.”

“Then there’s nothing wrong with thinking of me as yours.” He shrugs, breaking out in a smile. “And vice versa.”

Seung Gil managed to turn a lengthy conversation into a nonchalant affirmation without batting an eyelash. How the hell that happened is beyond me! Where are the feelings I had of possible rejection, of not being enough and of being too needy? Like magic, he's made them disappear; so simple but it leaves me staggering. This man is remarkable, and I don’t think he even realizes it. I shake my head, exhaling through a smirk of my own. “You really are making this whole dating thing easy.”

Again, Seung Gil shrugs before picking up his glass. “I'm just being normal. It's easy with you.”

Is there higher praise than that? Up until I was an adult, I never had someone I could be my absolute self with, someone I could show the real me to, until I met Yuuri; people like that don’t come around often, let alone feel the same towards you: Seung Gil is both. “Glad to hear it.” I raise my glass in turn, tapping his at the midpoint of the table. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

“Not by far.” The smile on his face is the one I’ve been looking forward to seeing all week.

Our entertainment for the night is a curvy woman with dark curls, dark green sequins dripping from her dress in a pool around her feet; she calls herself Autumn. She sings standards in a smoky voice. Due to the location of the stage, I have to shift my chair closer to Seung Gil’s, sitting more beside him than across from him. Before our food arrived, we held hands while listening to Autumn belt out love songs and ballads of unrequited passion. It’s safe to say that I’m not in love with Seung Gil at this moment, but that doesn’t mean I can’t relate to feelings of romantic fondness for him. We sit apart again to eat, whispering to avoid being overly rude. “You were right: this red is perfect with everything on the plate.” I tell him, referring to my wine. Since he’s driving, he’s not drinking as much but knowingly nods.

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Seung Gil whispers, close to my ear. Actually, he’s sitting closer than he was a moment ago; I can’t say I mind. I nod, offering him a forkful from my plate. I don’t expect him to offer me anything in return. I also don’t expect him to bite right off my fork, leaving the utensil in my grip. Seung Gil smiles after swallowing his bite. “Good. Thank you.”

I’m momentarily speechless, surprised he was bold enough to have me feed him right here, near the stage at the front of the room. During my years with Celestino, we never once went out together. We were never really dating, but he didn’t want people even seeing us acting like a couple; even at the station, nobody saw us interacting like a couple. This didn’t bother me, though it did confuse me: I was suitable to drag in his office for a quick fuck, but not fit to be seen around him in public? Seung Gil doesn’t seem to care about anything like that; not about being seen with another man, seen in a romantic setting, seen being fed by someone, seen with me. I place my hand on his thigh, under the table and out of sight. “You’re very welcome.”

Autumn continues to sing after a quick break, later into the night than I expected. She explains that this is her last song. “To close out the night, I want to perform a special song for all our couples out there. How many of you are on a date tonight?” She asks with a smirk, hands on her hips. I don’t look around at the others, but of all the folks I can see, not a single one keeps their hand down; not even Seung Gil. Autumn laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s what I thought. So this song should hit you here, right where it beats.” She places a hand on her heart with a gentle smile. “Since it’s the last one, I’d like to make it extra special for you, but only if you want. Do you want something special?” We clap to encourage the direction she’s taking this. Autumn nods, clearing her throat. “Okay, good! Then I’d like a volunteer.” Nervous laughter rings out from various places in the room. Volunteer for what? “Don’t be scared! I won’t pick on you. This is normally a duet, but I’ll sing with you.” She tells us the name of the song, explaining to only volunteer if we’re brave and we know the song.

“Should I do it?” I ask Seung Gil, turning to him and forcing my hand to not shoot up for Autumn to see. I don’t want him to be embarrassed or uncomfortable, but it looks like fun to be up on stage! If he was my boss, he’d probably shake his head and insist we don’t need the attention. If he was my ex, he’d probably volunteer himself so I wouldn’t get all the attention.

But he’s not either of them: he’s Seung Gil. Seung Gil smiles, easy and encouraging. His dark eyes sparkle, meeting mine directly as he shrugs. “If you want.”

I could kiss him; seriously, I could, but I want to make sure Autumn sees my hand before anybody else’s. I wave, almost jumping out of my seat. Of course, the singer notices me and beckons me to the stage. Seung Gil gives my hand a quick squeeze before I’m off and standing next to Autumn. From up here, I can hardly see anything past my feet. I hear applause, though. Autumn asks what my name is, handing me a microphone. “Phichit. You’re doing amazing tonight, by the way.”

Autumn laughs, patting my shoulder. “Thank you! You’re so sweet, Phichit. What brings you here tonight? Are you a singer?”

“I’m on a date.” I smile, trying to find Seung Gil in the darkness. Ah, there he is! “Not professionally, but I do love singing.” I admit. She tells the audience to sing along if they know it, and the band starts up behind us. The beat is familiar, and I’m pretty sure I know what part of the song she wants me to sing. Autumn starts to belt out the lyrics beside me, taking the first verse on her own. I think I can hear a few voices out in the crowd joining in, but I mostly hear her and the band. During the chorus, she nudges me, turning my direction. It’s my turn already? I stifle a giggle and sing out, kind of relieved I’m not up here by myself; singing is more fun with someone else. I don’t think too much about how I sound or if I’m off by a second. I think about how good it feels to stand here, mic in hand, and just have fun. When Autumn takes the next verse, I find Seung Gil again; our table seems so much closer to the stage now that I’m on it! His mouth is moving, forming the same words Autumn sings. He waves when he notices me staring, smile growing. No, I’m not in love with him; a voice in my head, surely originating from my heart, adds a single word to the end of that thought: ‘yet.’

On the drive back to my apartment, I scroll through the selfies I took with the talented lounge singer. I can't decide which one to post, or if I should post several. I frown at my phone with a sigh. “Still can’t pick one?” Seung Gil asks.

“I took too many. Plus, the lighting looks weird for me in this one while she looks good, but then in this one, the lighting worked for me and not her.”

“Maybe you can decide later.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures out the window. “We're here.”

We seem to have arrived at my place. What happens now? Do I send him on his way and discuss future plans later? Should I invite him up so I won’t have to say goodbye yet? Do I delay getting out so I can post my selfie, (hashtag) singerbynight? I’m pouting and I know it, and I can't bring myself to give a damn. “I don’t want to go up yet.”

“Why not?”

“Then the night will be over.”

Seung Gil reaches over, slipping my hand in his. “It has to end at some point.”

Maybe…not? I squeeze his hand, emboldened. “Do you have to be anywhere in the morning?”

“No.”

That’s what I was hoping to hear! I lean over, close to his ear. “Let’s both go, then.” If that isn't invitation enough, I slide my lips to his mouth and taste; Seung Gil is addictive, sweet and indulgent on my tongue. For a minute, I forget what I even said, lost in our heated kiss. He nods the moment we come up for air, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Okay, yeah. Should be interesting.”

Seung Gil follows me through my apartment, taking in the rushed words of where the rooms are and where he can leave his shoes and coat. I open the door to my bedroom, not even caring that it’s a little messy. “You’ve seen this room before.” I remind him. “Through the phone, I mean.”

“It's different in person, though.” Seung Gil whispers, glancing around.

“Yeah? How so?”

He wraps an arm around me, tugging me closer. “It smells like you. It's warm like you. It looks bigger in person.” My hands grip his sleeves, pulling him towards my unmade bed. “How long would you like me to stay?”

“Until you have to go.” I admit as I lean back, taking him to the mattress with me. Seung Gil isn’t much taller than I am, but he seems much taller with his knees on either side of my legs, hovering too far above. From this angle, I can see down his shirt and it's too tempting to resist: my hands find their way to the buttons, making quick work of them. Why is he still wearing his jacket? It has no place here. “You’re wearing too much.” I mutter, tossing it aside. He laughs, raking his hair out of his eyes in a gesture that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.

“Am I?”

I roll my eyes, shoving him aside and rolling on top of him. “Yes, you are, but I’m taking care of it.” I open his shirt, almost ripping the fabric in my fingers. His skin is flawless under the lamp light, begging to be touched. My hands roam down his sides, mouth busy finding its own way around Seung Gil's chest. To think his kiss drove me crazy: the taste of his skin is downright sinful. Every time my tongue passes over a sensitive spot, he lets out a shaky sigh that has me trembling on his lap. I kiss him again and blindly start to take off his pants. I only get them so far down his legs before I call it good and resume kissing his body.

“Phichit, wait.” He groans before my mouth travels past his waist.

“For what?” I mean, he does want this, right? “Is it too much? Do you not want me to?”

“It's not that.” His smirk, and the status of his body, quells my worries. “I just want to make sure this is what you want.” Seung Gil is half naked on my bed while I sit between his legs; it couldn’t be more obvious that this is what I want. Still, a softer side of me warms at his concern and consideration. Not everyone would stop to get verbal consent, and I do appreciate it.

I nod, resuming my task. “Oh yes, babe. This is what I want.”

Every sound he makes is seriously music to my ears; I didn’t know he could gasp or say my name so erotically. Still, I think he's wearing too much; I should’ve just finished the job earlier. Seung Gil untangles his hands from my hair to get his pants all the way off, sitting up and panting when he casts his shirt aside. “Why are you still dressed?”

“Um, because you didn't undress me?” I laugh, kissing him with more tongue than necessary.

“My mistake. I’ll fix it.” He reaches behind me, lips pressed to my cheek. With every button he undoes, breath ghosting near my temple, I lose more of my rational thinking; the iciness of his fingers against my hot skin makes me shiver. Seung Gil kisses his way to my ear, nibbling at my earlobe. “This shirt looks great on you.” His tongue laps at my skin when he says the letter ‘l.’ I shiver at his fingers working down my back, adding to the sensation of his kisses down my neck. “But I think it’d look even better on the floor.” As soon as the shirt is off, he sits back to get a look at me, smiling just enough for me to notice. “Beautiful.”

It quickly becomes evident that he prefers all my clothes on the floor, scattered here and there. He also prefers to take his time under the sheets, slowly making me forget anything but how incredible it feels to have him touch and taste every part of me. “Seung Gil.” My voice sounds shaky and desperate.

“Yeah?” He pauses to respond, using his hands to keep me senseless.

“I need more. I need you.” I can’t wait any longer. I’m actually shocked I’ve been able to go this long, but I simply need all of Seung Gil right now. He checks with me one more time before giving me what I want, making sure he has my permission. My body is too warm, too hot under his to turn back now. It doesn’t take long for me to decide that I don’t want this to end. It feels too good to ever want anything else. The way Seung Gil holds me, pulling our bodies together with a firm grip, makes me feel…safe, and secure. His hips aren’t gentle, but they move without rushing, without any hurry. Something about feeling so at ease makes every touch and every movement more amazing, more pleasurable. I tell him how he's doing, how he's even better than I expected and hoped he’d be.

Seung Gil laughs, gripping me tighter. “You make it easy.”

I brush his hair out of his eyes, suddenly desperate to see them. The intensity there, determined and wild, mixed with our steady pace makes me quiver. “Please don’t stop.” When I move my hand away, he places a kiss to my palm and manages to roll his hips with more energy. I moan just before he leans in for a kiss, swallowing every whimper and cry I let out when it all becomes too much. Seung Gil only moves his mouth from mine when he reaches his own limit, panting and calling out my name against my shoulder.

Heavy breathing and sighing: the only sounds in the room. “I’m exhausted.” Seung Gil sighs, face buried in a pillow a moment later.

I laugh, wrapping my arms around him. “What do you expect? You’re a beast.”

It's not easy catching our breath while lip locked, but we manage. When we're no longer a mess and under the covers, Seung Gil asks: “So you want me to stay over?” I mean, we are naked and sharing the same blanket with the lights off; isn’t that clear enough?

“You’re in my bed: you are staying over.”

“Okay, but let me warn you.” Seung Gil's arms snake around me, chest pressed to my back. “I’m a shameless cuddler, and I might steal part, or all, of your pillow during the night.”

His admission is hilarious, probably because I didn't peg him as a snuggly type of guy. I curl into his embrace, grateful for his warmth and presence. “That’s okay. I like being held while I sleep; it’s comfy.” I melt at the little kiss he gives my back before he settles into the mattress.

“That’s good.” He exhales softly. “Are you a light sleeper?”

“No. I sleep like a rock, including my lack of movement.”

“This will work, then.” Seung Gil yawns. I think he means the sleeping arrangement for the night, but I’m too sleepy to contemplate further. All I know is that tonight has been the best I can remember in some time. “Goodnight, Phichit.”

“Night, Seung Gil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a bad chapter, eh? I was in a mood for romantic writing. If you haven’t read my other fic, you might want to know that I don’t write explicit scenes; I like leaving some stuff to the imagination hahha I usually try to keep each chapter to about 4300 words, but the last few have gotten away from me XD No regrets! Stay tuned, and I’ll see you around~


	9. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re almost at the halfway point of the story! Writing this has been rather beneficial to my mental health; it’s like my safe place to unwind and relax :3 As for this chapter, it’s kind of a transitional one that’s just a tad bit short. It’s the start of a major plot point, which isn’t meant to be angsty, I promise: it’s about growing in a relationship. I guess you’ll know what I’m talking about when we get there hahha for now, let’s go to Minami’s place for lunch~

Having regular weekends off makes my weird schedule easier to handle; it’s not so stressful when I know I can have two days of relaxation in a row, often with my coworkers. Once my show ends in the wee hours of Friday mornings, Celestino takes over with his playlists until early Monday mornings when Mila and Yuri take over again. This particular Sunday afternoon is dedicated to catching up and hanging out with the weekday crew since we only see each other in passing and exchange scarce words. Minami volunteered his apartment for us while Mila and Yuri are picking our orders up from a cheap takeaway place on their way over. I’ve never asked how Minami affords this place: it’s in the ritzy part of town, minimalistic and trendy from its front desk to the sleek bathroom tiles. His kitchen has a high counter, shiny marble, with bar stools on either side; the one I’m sitting on gives me a great view from out of the large, uncovered window. I point out at the clouds, fluffy and grey. “Looks like more snow.” I mutter. Yuuri shrugs and Minami pouts, turning around to see for himself.

“Not more already!” When he turns back, he rests his head in his hand, elbow on the counter. “We need a longer break. I’d be fine if it just stayed cold and that’s it. What do you think, Yuuri?”

Yuuri smiles at Minami and sits up straighter. “Maybe soon, we’ll get some sun.”

I don’t get the chance to add to the conversation: the door swings open for Yuri to stomp through, Mila calmly shutting it behind them. Yuri drops a bag in the center of the counter, taking the seat on the end between Minami and Yuuri, rolling his eyes so far that he leans back. “I am never getting takeaway from that place again.” He groans. Mila sets her bag on the table, too, unwrapping the items with a patient smile.

“What happened?” I ask before getting up to grab utensils.

“Don’t get him started.” Mila chuckles. She only sits after all the food is passed out and the bags are set aside. Yuri leans forward, scowling right at her.

“Yes, get me started!” He shouts. “Minami: you made the order an hour ago, yeah?” Yuri doesn’t wait for Minami to answer. “They said it would be thirty fucking minutes, okay? Half an hour. This bitch was even running, like, fifteen minutes behind, too.” He gestures at Mila, frowning at him.

I try not to laugh, especially with Mila scowling like that. “Watch it, you.”

Yuri swiftly ignores her, continuing his story of inconvenience and incompetence. He’s so animated while talking, his blonde hair looks disheveled after every grand gesture. Mila confirms his complaints with a smirk here and there, mostly busying herself with her lunch or intentionally riling him up further. Yuuri laughs between bites of food, claiming to be laughing with Yuri and not at him. Minami tries to avoid getting hit in the head during all the theatrics, giggling even when being told there’s nothing funny. Sometimes I forget how nice it is to just sit with this group of people; we don’t get many opportunities to see each other outside of work. I mean, texting and stopping by each other’s places is good and all, but it’s not the same as all five of us getting together. I smile, appreciating the life in their eyes as the chatter continues, feeling at home here. “For hating on their service, you sure are enjoying their food.” I comment, noticing how quickly Yuri’s eating.

His insult comes without any venom: “Fuck you, I’m hungry.”

The past month or so, everyone's been so busy that I feel like I’ve missed what’s gone on in their lives. “It's been too long since we’ve done this. What’s everyone so busy with?” I ask after the energy in the room has become calmer.

“I try to get out of the city as much as I can.” Mila shrugs. She didn’t grow up around here and likes exploring neighboring towns for old record shops and local music events. “Last week, I finally got to see a performance in the old theater over in the next town. You guys remember how busy it got after that musical came through?” If anybody can find a diamond in the rough, it’s Mila: she can almost sense musical talent before hearing it. Back in the day, she apparently made quite a sum through selling unique mix CDs at her high school, but you didn’t hear that from me. I think she was in a band in college, but dropped out when it interfered with her grades.

Yuuri smiles like he has a secret, pink tinting his complexion. “Speaking of getting away, I’ve been trying to plan a visit to see my family.” Like Mila, Yuuri hasn’t always lived here. When I met him, he was struggling to be apart from him parents and his sister; he hadn’t been away from home for such a long period of time, and was terribly sad. Being a student, he couldn’t afford to visit them more than once or twice a year, so I became his family. It didn't happen overnight, but we're like family now and he can pay for himself, and even Victor, to fly out whenever the homesickness is too much to bear. “It hasn’t been that long, but it’s a new year and I’d like to start it off right.” I happen to know that they would’ve gone earlier this month, but Victor was constantly booked and Yuuri insisted they make the trip together. “Travel might be nice in February.”

“You certainly deserve it.” Minami nods. “I’ll wait to holiday until spring gets here. Finding which clubs have the best music to dance to will keep me warm.” Since he’s only been out of university a few years, Minami isn’t used to the weather here. He became an Eros fan long ago, and because he had a shining referral from his school's radio station, he was hired before he even held his diploma. He also made the move almost entirely on his own. When I learned this, I wondered why his family didn’t help, but I think it has something to do with pride; perhaps he was encouraged to follow a different path but forged his own and strained his relationships, but that’s all just speculation. Oh, and his calls to his parents are always brief and he never brings them up in conversation, but that’s not my place to get involved. “The place where the old roller rink was has been pretty fun. You all should stop by sometime.” One thing Minami loves more than fanboying over Eros and chatting up friends is dancing. During any music, he taps his feet or sways his hips, or makes any movement to sync with a beat: watching him in the booth during his shift is a riot. We agree that it sounds like fun, and we can work out details later.

Yuri clears his throat, doing a poor job of holding back a smile. “Now that we're all in one place, I wanted to talk about something I have coming up.”

Uh, when does Yuri Plisetsky ever have big news? “We’re all ears.” I nod.

“So, like, my anniversary is coming up next month, and it's nothing too big, or anything, but we're going to have a party and you should all come, or whatever.”

Or whatever. I think he means ‘because it would mean so much,’ but I won’t correct him. I smile instead, bouncing in my seat. “Has it seriously been three years already?” Time sure does fly! I attended this wedding and haven’t seen Yuri as happy as he was on that day.

He nods, hiding his blush by resting his face in one hand, the other arm crossed over his chest. “Yeah, three years.”

“Wait, what’s the traditional gift for the third anniversary?” Mila asks, brushing her red hair from her face.

Minami frowns, tilting his head to one side. “Traditional gift?”

“Yeah, every wedding anniversary has its own symbolic gift that the couple traditionally gives each other in some cultures.” I explain. “I think the third year is crystal. Oh, Yuri: you could decorate with that in mind! Crystal chandeliers, crystal glasses, crystal centerpieces...” That would be stunning to see! Well, I think so; the sour look on Yuri's face leads me to believe he doesn't see my vision in the same light.

“None of that. And, not that I care about that tradition crap, but I think the third year is jade.” Yuri rolls his eyes.

Mila shakes her head. “No, I think it's leather.” She shoots Yuri a smirk that’s bordering on devilish. “You could have all the guests in head to toe leather. Won’t that be fun and sexy?”

“No, and I’m going to forget you ever suggested that.”

Everyone but him and Mila laugh, used to their typical banter and bickering. “You gotta have a theme, or something, right? It'll be fun.” 

“What’re you talking about?”

When she can’t seem to get a rise out of Yuri, Mila’s grin only grows. “Oh, I get it: you’d rather keep the leather stuff for the bedroom. Just wink if I’m right.” She demonstrates this gesture with exaggeration. “That way I’ll know what to buy you two as a gift.”

“How about no, followed by shutting the hell up?” Yuri glares, red in the face.

“It's not even a leather year.” I sigh. “I’m sure it’s crystal.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong." Mila argues.

“I thought he said it was jade.” Minami gestures at Yuri.

“It is.” Yuri mumbles.

“No it’s not!” Mila laughs. “It's leather.”

Before another word can fly across the counter, Yuuri taps his cup with a fork, stealing our attention. He has that soft smile on his face, the one I’ve grown used to seeing when I need cheering up. “This is their special day, and regardless of what traditions some people might have, it’s their choice on what they want to do.” We sober at his words, remembering that Yuri didn’t have to invite us to, or even tell us about, his party. “Do you have a date or venue yet, Yuri?”

He'll never thank him, but I know Yuri's grateful for the change in the conversation’s direction. He gives us more details about this party, promising to update us, excluding Mila, when he gets more details and makes more decisions. There's plenty of time to get things settled, so all we have is a tentative date and a warning to act right or be uninvited.

“Can we bring a date, or is this a smaller type of thing?” Mila asks, one eyebrow arched.

Yuri shrugs, looking slightly bored. “I don’t know. It's probably cool to have a plus one, but I’ll check and let you know.”

Mila squeals, suddenly excited. “I hope we can! I finally have someone to bring.” She's been dating a friend she’s known for years but was too nervous to ask out. If asked, Mila will talk for what feels like an eternity about this girlfriend of hers. I’ll admit, the woman is stunning, but I don’t need to know that she never wears anything less than a four-inch heel or that her favorite season is summer.

“Would she be interested in going?” Yuuri asks.

“Oh, hell yeah! Sara loves social events.”

“I’m glad for all of you, but then I’d be the only solo one.” Minami frowns. “That kind of sucks.”

I reach across the counter, patting his hand. “You’re still young, hon. You have the rest of your life to find someone special.” My comment brightens his dark eyes enough to know I’ve said the right thing.

“Phichit, you have someone, too?” Mila asks. I shrug, winking for decoration.

“Like, a boyfriend?” Yuri asks. “Does he know you’re fucking your boss?”

With an eye roll, I exhale my annoyance out and inhale some tolerance in. Yuri knows I’ve been seeing someone and knows better than to think I’d keep my benefits with Celestino at the same time. “I’m doing no such thing. Anymore.” I clarify. “Besides, he knows about my past arrangement and also knows that it's absolutely over.”

“So this is the one you’ve been seeing for a couple months, or so?” Mila narrows her eyes like she’s cracked a code. I nod; it’s been two months already? Well, over a month, I think.

“Is that why you’ve been so busy on weekends?” Yuri mutters.

“Maybe.”

“Tell me more about him.” Mila leans over with interest. “I feel like I know so little.”

I’m not sure where to begin, so I start with telling them about how we met and how we got to talking, and answer the small questions they pepper in. There's a lot I could say about Seung Gil, but I feel like none of it would do any justice unless they met him in person. I could tell them that he’s considerate, but it’s not the same as having him hold a door open or being offered some of his food. I could also say that he's smart, but it’s not the same as holding a complex conversation about bees or nuclear fission with him. Telling them he’s honest is one thing, but hearing him say exactly what’s on his mind is another. The same could be said about his curiosity, his patience, his intensity; none of it can be understood until one spends time with Seung Gil and uncovers these things for themselves.

Later, when we're winding down, they indulge me in more selfies than I know what to do with. It's silly and fun, and I’m still laughing by the time Yuuri and I carpool back to my place. “I love hanging out with everyone. These are awesome.” I scroll through the images, past the ones of Yuuri looking caught off-guard, Mila being too close for Yuri's comfort, Minami posing dramatically, me at the center of it all, until I reach one from my last date: Seung Gil and I made a proper snowman together.

“If I ask a question about Seung Gil, will you get defensive?” Yuuri asks out of the blue.

What kind of question does he have in mind? I feel some of my giddiness slipping away at his tone, humorless and concerned. “I guess it depends on the question, but you know I can’t stay upset with you. What’s up?”

His pause doesn’t inspire much confidence. “Why is it that he won't meet me?”

“Who says he won’t?”

Yuuri ignores my pout. He’s driving, but if we weren’t in the car, he’d probably do the same. “Okay, then why haven’t I met him?” He spares me a glance. “I always met your boyfriends before you were even dating them, so why is this time different?”

I tuck my phone away: this requires my full attention. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“I’m worried that you’re hiding him, or he’s avoiding getting to know people who matter to you and I don’t know why either of those things might be.”

Damn, I didn’t realize that’s how things look to him. I wish he would’ve asked sooner! I squeeze his shoulder, keeping my hand in place. “Yuuri, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” There’s no need, really. “It's just that Seung Gil isn't really a…well, he's introverted. He doesn’t like being around big groups of people, and I didn’t want to throw him into my social circles so soon.” Especially because I didn’t even know he was into men at first, if I'm being honest. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m picking on him, or anything, because I don’t know him and have nothing against him.” Yuuri sighs. “I know what it’s like to not always be sociable and stuff, but it just seems weird none of us have met him.”

“It's not like I’ve mentioned meeting you and he declined, or anything. I’m just taking things slow.”

“Is this because of Chris?”

Where the hell did that come from? “What're you talking about?”

“You sacrificed your happiness for his.”

Yeah, maybe I allowed a pretty face to bend and shape me into what worked for him just so he could smile, but that’s got nothing to do with this. “I know I did. That was a mistake.” I sigh, knowing he’s only being a best friend and looking out for me. “I do appreciate you caring, but my relationship with Chris couldn’t be more different from my relationship with Seung Gil. Chris didn’t have my back like I needed him to and I was blind to it; I can admit that now.” It took me a while to understand that I wasn’t stupid, I was just smitten. “This time is different.”

“Why is it different?”

Oh, don’t get me started; I could go on and on about how unlike Chris and Seung Gil are. “Seung Gil is a calming presence: he doesn’t make me feel like we’re in constant competition for attention, or that I always need to be on my toes. He lets me be who I am.” I poke Yuuri’s shoulder. “You know how hard it is to find people who get you, and who you can let your hair down around.” He nods in understanding. “Seung Gil’s a great guy. He treats me well, and I'm happy.”

Yuuri can’t resist reflecting my smile back at me: I know he only wants what’s best for me, the same way I do for him. “So he isn’t avoiding me, and all your friends, on purpose?”

“Not at all. It'll just take time to get him integrated.” I take my phone back out to return to my photo gallery, coming across a picture of Yuri scrambling out of Mila's hug, right in the middle of a shout. I turn the phone so Yuuri can see, making him chuckle. “Would you want to meet these people?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I see your point.”

When I get to my apartment, I shuffle through the newly fallen snow fast enough to get out of the cold, but slow enough so I don’t slip and eat asphalt. My hamsters haven’t been fed yet, and I feel bad for making them wait so long. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I shout to them while scooping a cup of seeds from the bag. “Lunch took longer than expected, and I really meant to be back sooner, but I’ll make it up to you.” How will I do this? Apples, of course! After a dash to the kitchen, washing, peeling and cutting the fruit, I return to the cage. “One at a time so I know you’re all even.” I mutter, offering my hand to Maphrao. After climbing aboard, my offering of a tiny bit of apple is accepted with excitement. “Better than Sunday vegetables, right?” I repeat the process with Khing and attempt it with Pheuak, but instead of a patient hamster, I get a lively one that climbs up my arm. “Want to come with me while I patch my yoga bag?” The other day, I tore a hole in the damn canvas and had to safety pin it together. Pheuak and I make our way to the sofa, project in my lap and shoulder being used as a bed. Back in college, I learned how to sew when one of my friends needed help with their drag costume. I begin mending the fabric when I notice an unread message on my phone:

‘What do you do with socks you can’t find a match for?’

Does Seung Gil's question have a punchline, or is he seeking laundry advice? “I don’t think he’s making a joke, Pheuak.” I giggle, admiring my own fuzzy socks. I’ve never been one to police the garments; as long as I have two on, I’m good. ‘Match them with another lost one? lol'

‘What if there are two different kinds, or I can’t find another lone sock?’

I’m starting to wonder if this is a hypothetical question or a real problem he's facing. ‘I guess you’ll have to set it aside and wait for one to show up!’ When there's a pause in responses, I pick my mending back up and get to sewing. “This thread doesn’t even match.” I mumble, noticing the light blue doesn’t match the turquoise very well. The more I look at it, the more I’m okay with the contrast. If the hole is fixed, then I’ve done my job.

A few minutes later, I receive a picture of a black sock and a short white sock with accompanying text: ‘This is the shit I’m dealing with…ha ha'

I laugh at his horrible dilemma. He can be quite silly sometimes, even if he'd never know it. It's an adorable quality to have. My friends will all see that sometime in the near future. They’ll see that Seung Gil is his own brand of charming and undeniably thoughtful, and they’ll get to know his sly humor and quiet confidence; then they’ll understand why I’m beginning to adore him so much. I pluck my hamster from off my shoulder, cradling little Pheuak in my palms. “When they all meet, they’ll love him. He’s a good person, and he'll fit right in. Don’t you think?” My pet doesn’t respond, peeking over the ledge of my fingers. Hamster feet tickle, especially against softer skin like palms. “I think he'll like them, too. At least, I’m sure he'll get along with Yuuri. Who doesn’t?” I stand from the sofa, taking Pheuak back to the others. When I return, I send a message to Seung Gil: ‘Babe lmao I’m sure you’ll survive’

‘Not if I’m wearing these together.’

He’s so ridiculous, I can't suppress my laughter. During the first few conversations we shared, it wasn’t always clear when he was being serious and when he was joking. Obviously there are still times when I’m uncertain of his tone, but when I recognize his humor, the laughter spills out. ‘Hahahaha omg I can't with you X,D you headed somewhere?’

There's a chance he mentioned his plans at some point and I forgot them. He could also be doing laundry, or organizing his clothes. Seung Gil responds: ‘Just out to the store. I feel like juice. Want anything?’

What’ll happen if I say yes? ‘What would you do with it if I asked for a hot chocolate lol'

‘In theory, I could come over. I was also thinking we could go together. Sorry if that’s putting you out; I know you were out all afternoon and might want to rest.’ Seung Gil is asking me to go with him to pick up groceries? That’s terribly cute of him! Not to mention considerate: checking on me and doting just a little.

Not for the first time, I see the softness of Seung Gil and smile. ‘That’s sweet of you :))) Maybe I can go get you and we could come back here? After you get your juice lol'

Seung Gil has been over many times now, sometimes for a short visit and other times for the night or two. He has his own drawer in the bathroom, even. ‘Okay, but if you make fun of my grape juice again, I won’t share.’ He doesn’t have to tell me that he isn’t joking: he doesn’t like to share. I laugh anyway, enjoying our text conversation before we agree on a time and general plan. There's no vague “I don’t care" about location, no “you decide" on time; Seung Gil is direct and concise in what he wants. What he wants right now is to spend time with me, and that makes something as mundane as a grocery run something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter takes us back to the radio station, with a special guest on Phichit’s show. It’s not heavy, so that’s cool XD Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from serious plot and break up the story with stuff that’s a little lighter, you know? Also, don’t forget that I respond to comments every Thursday and update Mondays! I love you for reading and wish you all well :D


	10. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through this fic, and going strong XD I had fun with this one; the radio aspect of this AU is a blast to write hahha This is a shorter chapter, but some of the last ones have been longer so I think it’ll balance out. Off to the station!

Once in a while, I’ll have a guest on my show for varying lengths of time. Sometimes it’s just for a couple callers, other times for the intro or an anecdote. There are other occasions where I have a cohost for the entire show, too, which can be a lot of fun. The last guest I had was Minami; we started discussing music and culture in detail from origins of genres to instrumentations and why our favorite songs top our lists. It was a delight, but the topic had been fighting boredom and we may have gotten sort of derailed. Okay, we completely derailed, but it was a good time. It’s better than when I had Yuri sit in on a show, back before he got paired with Mila in the mornings. When my callers had a problem he deemed ‘stupid,’ he’d scoff on the air and constantly roll his eyes. What’s worse is that he chimed in when I’d give advice and minimized their issues like they meant nothing. That night was filled with damage control, and I’ve never had him back on for an entire show again.

Tonight, I decided that I’d like to talk about the importance of friendship. Who better to help me with the topic than my best friend in the whole world? Well, he doesn’t know that he’s going to be a guest yet, but his show is almost over and I have a feeling he’ll want to join me. While in the hall, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, watching Eros close out his show. The light switches off and he gathers his things to leave, so I hold the door open for him. When I shut it behind him instead of walking inside, he gives me a skeptical look. “Aren’t you going in? You’re on soon.” He slips his glasses further up his nose, scrunched in confusion in a very Yuuri way.

“Yeah, I know, but not yet.” I shrug. “I have a special show tonight.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup.” I grin. “It’s a show about friendship, and why it’s important and can often be equal to, if not more than, the value of family.” I know that friendship has been detrimental to my life; it’s a topic I feel quite strongly about.

“I can see how that’s true.” He smiles at me, not suspecting a request around the corner.

If we’re gonna start this show on time, I have to ask sooner than later. “Right? So, I was thinking…if you haven’t planned anything with Victor and aren’t opposed to staying up just a tiny bit later than usual, perhaps you’d like to grace my listeners with your presence?” Now that I’ve asked, Yuuri just stares at me like he saw this coming a dozen kilometers away. “You don’t have to stay the full time, either! I just figured that since I’ll be talking about friendships, it’d be great to have my best friend with me to provide some extra insight.”

Yuuri sighs, mouth turning up on one side in something of a smirk. “You couldn’t have asked earlier?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” I admit, checking the time on my phone. “I’m gonna be late! Are you in or out?” I ask, holding my breath for no real reason. Instead of a response, Yuuri slowly steps back to the door, walking through and holding it open for me. “Yes! Thank you so much!” I race after him to get settled in, side by side in the booth. I give his hand a squeeze, brimming with excitement. “Seriously, where would I be without you?”

“I don’t want to know.” Yuuri laughs as he takes his glasses back off.

In truth, I’d probably be bored and unhappy without Yuuri in my life. Sometimes, I don’t think he realizes how important he is to me. He takes his phone out while I start the show, texting his husband about his change in plans, I’m sure. “Good evening to all! Are you staying out of the cold? Spring isn’t here yet, so don’t put your jumpers away.” After pestering and shouting at Celestino, Yuri and I finally convinced our boss to get a new heater months ago, and I have no regrets. “Stay warm, okay? And I’m glad you’ve tuned in to listen to P. Chu talk you through your issues on this wonderful winter evening. Tonight is a special show because, drumroll not required: we have a guest with us!” Nobody can see us, but we exchange smiles anyway; Yuuri even blushes a little, having never gotten used to being in a spotlight. “Any guesses as to who it is before I spoil it? I’ll give you some hints.” If Yuuri was embarrassed before, he has another thing coming! “This person was the only one brave enough to tell me my hair should always be short when I started growing it out.” Mistakes were made, okay? “This person also made sure we kept our apartment clean when we were roommates, even if that meant reminding me my hamsters don’t always smell pleasant.” Yuuri takes this moment to cover a laugh; he knows exactly what smell I’m talking about. “They also reply to every message I send in our groupchat, even if it’s an emoji or a completely stupid comment.” I’m aware I use the groupchat more than everyone else in it, but they ignore most of my dumb memes and stuff anyway. “And let’s not forget that this person brings me tea when I’m sick, sings along to my favorite musicals with me and would drop his plans after work so I can spend time with him for an hour or so, just hanging out.” I watch Yuuri cover half of his face, smiling behind his hand; he definitely forgets how much he means to me. “Give up? Drumroll.” I gesture at him and he indulges me by tapping his hands on the desk. “It’s my best friend, Eros!”

“And you thought your evening with me was over.” Eros smirks, blush subsiding.

“For those of you who don’t know, Eros and I have been best friends in real life for years. We roomed together in school, got our jobs here together.”

I could go on, but Eros sums it up nicely: “We’re practically brothers.”

My listeners don’t know this, but the man sitting next to me has seen me through both my best and worst times. When I would get overwhelmed with my classes and struggle with studying, he stayed up with me to listen to every complaint; he’d help me break my work up into segments to complete in a timely manner, leaving room for relaxing time. Each time I got my foolish heart broken, he’d keep me fed and looked after; he treated me to all my favorite foods, telling me how I could and would do better than those guys. He listened to all of my presentations so I could practice; he went with me to print our assignments in the sketchy library across campus; he shared his laundry soap with me while we took turns keeping watch over the machines so nobody would steal our shit; he gave me the other cell phone when it was buy one, get one free and his needed to be replaced. Every time I’ve gotten too caught up in a client, he was a shoulder to lean on and an ear to talk to. Without Yuuri, I wouldn’t even be in this field: I would’ve given up long ago. He’s also seen me excel in my psych classes, impressing professors and colleagues alike. During the creation of my book, he let me bounce ideas off him and gave some critiques that I desperately needed. He was the first to read that thing, and is the only one to own a signed copy. When I got my counseling job, he went out with me to celebrate and we stayed out all night acting goofy and starting inside jokes we no longer remember. “Everyone needs a friend like Eros. He’s stuck with me through all my highs and lows and is still around.”

“Well, P, the same could be said for you.” Yuuri elbows me without force. “I used to get homesick so much in college, missing my family and the friends I grew up with as a kid. My roommate decided it would be a good idea to share pictures of our families and talk about memories with them.” That was some time ago! Hearing about it is like finding a lost item I’d forgotten about. “It made us both sad, but we were sad together, and then we weren’t so lonely anymore.”

What Yuuri doesn’t mention is that we both cried and ate all the frozen yogurt I’d just bought and ordered two pizzas to split between us; it was a good day. “Yeah, and from then on, we just clicked.” It’s nice to have the freedom to say and do what I want around someone without worrying about being judged.

“That’s not to say we haven’t fought or disagreed before.”

I laugh, nodding at Eros’ sentiment. “Yeah, don’t get it twisted: we don’t agree on a lot of things, and get on each other’s nerves like all friends do.” I used to get frustrated at Yuuri’s lack of confidence; how does such a smart, cool person like him not believe in himself? It took a lot of cajoling to get him to clubs and bars, too; and he wouldn’t believe me when I said that damn saxophone player was staring at him all night. “It’s healthy to have some conflicts, and even healthier to learn from those experiences.” There have been many times that Yuuri reached the end of his rope with me, too: my music is too loud, I should stop procrastinating so much, not everyone wants to see my ass hanging out of my shorts, there’s no need to analyze everyone’s past and habits with a clinical eye. “Our communication skills have improved so much.”

Eros laughs, resting his face in one hand. “I’ll admit that I’ve improved more. I used to struggle just telling P it was his turn to take care of dinner.”

“Now he’s perfectly fine telling me I need to add more salt when I cook.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

I roll my eyes at this sass, waving him off. “Yeah, whatever. You didn’t even know how to use lemongrass when I met you.” He sees my point, stifling his laughter in his hand. “We’re going to take our first caller here.” I gesture for Eros to hit the button.

“I don’t get callers on my show, so this is always fun!”

I smile at his enthusiasm, greeting our listener. “Welcome to our friendship show, dear caller! Who are you tonight and what brings you here?”

“Um, hi.” The lightly accented male voice responds. “I’m conflicted because I’m not sure how to spend time with my fiancée while also making time to be with my friends.” He sort of laughs, possibly embarrassed or incredulous. “I mean, I know I have good relationships, but there are only so many hours in a day, you know?”

Unlike Conflicted, I’ve never been engaged before; I do, however, have multiple married friends, so I doubt I’ll need Yuuri to take the reigns too much. “Have you heard from your friends that you’re always MIA or hard to get a hold of?” I ask.

“Only a few times.” Conflicted chuckles again. I’m starting to think it’s a nervous habit of his.

“Has your fiancée insisted that you hang out with them to wedding plan, and you’ve missed out on friend time?”

This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maye once, or twice.”

Back when Yuuri was engaged, it only took a week of planning on his own to figure out that, well, he couldn’t do it all on his own. Victor had actually wanted to help, but Yuuri insisted that he take care of some things by himself. I didn’t see him for a few days and then got a call from Victor, needing backup. When I got to their apartment, this being before they bought their house, Yuuri was irritated and frankly over the whole wedding thing. After some tea and cake, Victor and I got him to understand that planning could be fun and we’d both be willing to pitch in like we’d mentioned before. I mean, what else is a best man for, if not helping the groom? The following months were spent not taking things too seriously and reminding Yuuri that this was a party celebrating a marriage; it was all in good fun. Not to say that I was a critical part of their wedding planning, but I’m not sure how things would’ve gone down without me. “In my experience, Conflicted, you need to have your friends around you during this part of your life.”

“Yeah, that’s really true.” Eros nods. “In my experience, I would’ve lost my mind if I hadn’t had my friends supporting me.”

“But isn’t this time for me and my fiancée to spend together? I thought this was for me and her.”

“Believe me, you’ll have all the time in the world to hang out with your wife after the wedding.” Eros smirks. “That’s also what the honeymoon is for.”

For Yuuri, marriage didn’t change much; he and Victor already lived together, and the time they spend together now is the same as when they got engaged. For other couples, though, marriage means more time with their significant other and that can sometimes be hard to adjust to. “Planning a wedding can be stressful, even if you aren’t actively doing that much. Sometimes the only way to help relieve some of that stress is to spend time away from your fiancée and go out with your friends. Does that make sense, Conflicted?”

“I guess so.” He sighs. “So how do I balance friend time and fiancée time?”

“Well, that’s up to you.” I shrug. Eros taps my arm, giving me a questioning look. I nod, taking the moment to drink some water.

Eros leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What could work is including your fiancée in friend activities once in a while, aside from alone time with her and alone time with them. It helps to reinforce that you’re not picking anyone over someone else. Oh, and don’t forget to talk to your fiancée when you need to get out.”

“Yes, it’s not that you don’t want to be with her, Conflicted; it’s just that everyone needs to be with their friends sometimes.” I add.

Conflicted says nothing for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve been helpful at all. He wasn’t all that specific about his problem, so I can’t be detailed about his advice. Well, unless he elaborates, which I’d be okay with. “She likes when I have fun with friends, but I don’t want her to feel abandoned. I also want my friends to stop saying I’m never available.”

“Just have a chat with them. Coming from a good place is never a bad idea.” I suggest.

“That definitely makes sense! Thank you.” Conflicted replies. It’s always more enjoyable to have open, cooperative callers rather than stubborn ones. I once had a caller who wouldn’t divulge, like, any information and I was at a loss at what to say to them. How can I help when I don’t know what’s wrong? Another caller, years ago, didn’t want to agree with or acknowledge much of what I was saying. Why call and ask for advice if you’re not going to even think it over? I let Eros close out the call with Conflicted, drinking more water to ease my throat.

“Welcome to our friendship show! This is Eros, right beside P Chu. Who are you tonight?”

A short pause is interrupted by the caller clearing their throat. “Yeah, good evening.” Holy shit, I know that voice. “I’m actually a big fan of yours, Eros.”

Eros flashes a satisfied smirk, not realizing he’s being complimented by someone he doesn’t actually trust. “Oh my, you’re a fan? I’m flattered! I hope you didn’t call in on my account.” He chuckles, glancing at me. I’m not sure what he reads from my expression, but he raises an eyebrow, smile slightly shrinking. I press my lips in a line, waiting for a good time to tell him who’s on the line.

“Ah, unfortunately, not this evening.”

“Maybe next time.” Eros shrugs. “So who are you tonight?”

“Wary.”

I don’t want Yuuri to think I’m keeping information from him, so I make a note on my tablet and show him what I’ve typed: ‘It’s Seung Gil Lee’

He blinks up at me, jaw dropped, before taking the tablet from me. “What’s making you wary?” Yuuri shows me what he’s written: ‘Are you serious? Your boyfriend is calling your show?’ He’s gotten surprisingly good at multitasking, I’ve noticed. That’ll come in handy when he and Victor decide on adoption or a surrogate.

“Well, since you two seem to know about making and keeping friends, I was wondering if you could give me some advice on…I guess opening up more?”

Um, maybe I shouldn’t have told Yuuri who it was; maybe Seung Gil wanted to remain anonymous to him, and maybe I just ruined the illusion of mystery. I lick my lips to soothe the spot I’d been gnawing on and straighten out my headphones. “Hello, Wary.” I start. “Do you possibly have trouble trusting new people?”

“Most of the time.”

I know Yuuri’s watching, but I let myself smile anyway: Seung Gil trusts me. It feels like a privilege not many get with him. “Most people you meet aren’t out to hurt you. I’m not gonna lie and say people won’t hurt you, but in general, that’s not what people are aiming to do.”

“I suppose I know that, but…it’s hard to trust.”

We’ll have to talk about this later; he’s clearly been hurt in the past and I’d like to help him with that, but there’s a time and place for everything. Yuuri has a frown on his face, brow furrowed. “You sound sad. Can I ask if it’s a specific person, or would you rather not say?”

“It’s in general. Nobody specific.”

“Trust isn’t something learned overnight.” I resist the urge to call him babe. “I’m sure you know that, Wary, but it’s something you’ll have to practice constantly.”

“Don’t let him scare you.” Eros laughs lightly. “It’ll be a work in progress, that’s all.”

Seung Gil laughs a bit. “I understand, Eros.”

“I think a good start is to observe what others share with you, then decide what’s comfortable for you to share in return. As long as you don’t immediately leap out of your comfort zone, every little effort to open up is a step in the right direction.” Does Seung Gil struggle all the time? Not with me, but with his neighbors or coworkers and stuff? “Like I mentioned to our last caller, coming from a good place is never a bad idea.”

Eros nods, sitting back in his chair. “Yeah, don’t push yourself too much too fast. Baby steps are still steps, Wary.”

I want to text Seung Gil during our commercial break, but Yuuri grabs my wrist with a serious expression the second we go off the air. “What’s up?” I ask him, setting my phone down. He lets go with a sigh, pout still in full force.

“He sounded really lonely, Phichit.”

“I know.”

“Is he always like that?”

I can’t help but smile, face relaxing. “No, he isn’t. I told you before, he’s really introverted and doesn’t talk to people all that often. It’s his nature.”

“But he doesn’t like that about himself. If he didn’t mind it, he wouldn’t be asking how to change it.”

Yes, this is true; I’m not sure what made Seung Gil decide to seek help for his social anxieties, but I don’t think I need to worry about it. “I think he wants to work on himself. He’s fine how he is, in my opinion, but if he wants to feel better about who he is, I’m willing to support him in that.” I explain with a shrug. “I was actually just about to text him, but I’ll make sure we talk about it in person.”

Yuuri nods slowly, frown subsiding at the same speed. “Good. Make sure he’s okay.”

“Aww, you care about my boyfriend!” I jab him with my elbow. He rolls his eyes in turn, but doesn’t deny it. I laugh, relenting. “I do appreciate the concern. He just needs to get out more, and he’ll get used to people.”

“Maybe you should invite him to Yuri’s anniversary party.” Yuuri settles back in his chair. “Yuri did say we could all bring a date.”

I tap my chin, considering this. My friends will be there, so Seung Gil can meet them. I’ll be with him, so he should be alright. This could be a great idea, actually; I’m not sure why I hadn’t brought it up to Seung Gil yet in the first place! “Hey, yeah, that’s a good plan. I’ll bring it up later.” Yuuri smiles, somehow reassured, I think, by my agreement. He’s never met Seung Gil and I know his trust in him is about thirty question marks long, yet he cares; he cares because he wants me happy, and I couldn’t ask for more in a friend.

He scoffs, still smiling. “What?”

“You’re the best friend in the world, you know that?”

Yuuri sticks his tongue out before glancing back at the screen for our incoming callers. “Only next to you, brat. We’re going live in a sec, but he’ll come to the party, right?”

I shrug, genuinely unsure. “We’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship fluff FTW, babes. IRL, I was feeling some type of way cuz of some familial crap. The cure? Yuuri and Phichit’s relationship hahha fixed my attitude real good. The next chapter is a little tense, but as I mentioned before, it’s not meant to be angsty. It’ll all be good in the end, I promise, so stick with me and we’ll have a good time. Until then, hug your friends and support your loved ones and be well :3


	11. Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should be called Cookies hahha A lot of this fic involves food, and I’m not sure why. I rather enjoy cooking and eating, so maybe that’s reason enough? Food is love hahha Anyway, we’re headed straight for Phichit’s apartment!

From where I am, I can see snow drifting down in soft, crystal puffs beyond the window, silhouetted against the nearby tree branches. The curtains are drawn to one side, letting in the pale light of the January sun. A sleepy haze makes it hard for my eyes to focus on anything in particular, slowly following some flakes on their descent from the sky. I tug the fluffy blanket further up my shoulders and turn towards the back of the sofa, a throw pillow keeping the arm from hurting my neck. A yawn manages to escape in spite of my efforts to keep it in. I let my eyes shut, the familiar scent of baking shortbread mixing with freshly used soap in a fragrant lullaby. Within a few seconds, my eyes pop back open at my knees being jostled. I blink at the culprit, noticing his voice has stopped filling the room. The only part of the blanket he’s using is from what’s draped over my legs, settled in his lap. A hand rests on my knee, pulling me further from my drowsiness. “Hi, babe.” I greet Seung Gil as he holds his place in the novel he was reading with a thumb. “Why’d you stop reading?” My eyes trail to little Maphrao, nestled in the front of Seung Gil’s jumper.

“You’re falling asleep.” He leans forward to set the book on the table, cradling my hamster in place. “And I think the cookies are almost done anyway.” After petting Maphrao, he picks up a nearby plastic ball and puts the hamster inside; the second it hits the floor, my pet takes off around the coffee table.

“I was just really comfortable.” My legs are still in his lap, even. “You’re the comfiest.”

He smirks at this, leaning back into the sofa. “What an honor.”

How does Seung Gil manage to make me laugh all the time? “Right? And it’s all yours.” I tease him, swiveling to rest my head on his legs and tossing mine across the length of the couch. “Honestly, your voice is really soothing. You should become an audiobook narrator, or whatever.” He wraps one arm around me, drawing circles on my back with his thumb.

“I’ll just stick to reading to you and the hamsters.”

I shrug, placing my hand on his arm. “Yeah, you probably should keep your job. How much longer until the timer goes off?”

“Few minutes.”

“Feels like it’s been forever, doesn’t it?”

“Not really.”

Nothing brings out my impatience like waiting for cookies to bake. “We’re not all made of stone. Some of us are weak to the smell of baked goods.” I shut my eyes again, inhaling another, possibly more pleasant, scent. “You smell very inviting.” I mumble against his shirt.

“Shampoo and soap are hardly an invitation.”

His fingers in my hair make me melt on the spot, leaning further into the touch. “I disagree. I’m also more awake now if you want to keep reading. We can find out what happens after they leave the casino.” The crime novel he’s been reading aloud is much more exciting than I thought it would be. I only started nodding off a while ago because there was a lull in the plot, after the first heist scene. Seung Gil indulges me, picking the book back up and continuing where we left off. We're about to get to a really good part, I’m sure of it, when his phone's timer starts beeping incessantly. “Ahhh, we were getting somewhere good!” I mention while stepping off the couch. Seung Gil takes my wiggling fingers in his and follows me to the kitchen.

“We can continue later.” He shrugs before hoisting himself up on the counter beside the stove. “I think cookies are more important right now, though.”

I use my favorite strawberry shaped oven mitts to pull the tray out, drowning in warm, sesame shortbread fumes. While they rest on the stove, I turn to Seung Gil with what I hope is a stern expression. “Do not touch them yet. I’m not even kidding.” For whatever reason, this makes him laugh louder than I think he means to. “What is funny about that?” I pull my phone from my pocket, finding a suitable angle to photograph the cookies. “I don't need to be driving you to the hospital burn ward.”

Apparently that makes the situation funnier but I can’t explain why. “I’m not dumb enough to touch a hot pan, P. Give me some credit.”

“I’m not talking about the pan!” I throw a mitt at him without much force. “Wait a while before trying a cookie.” Just to be sure, I scoot the pan further from him; I’m not taking any chances. He scoffs, but I smirk in return, continuing to take pictures. “I mean it: not yet.”

“Not even the fucked up one?”

It’s my turn to laugh, standing in front of him, setting my phone down. “It's not fucked up.” My eyes drift to the cookie in question, misshapen and unevenly baked. “It's just a tad asymmetrical.” The last bits of dough were crammed into the cookie cutter, pressed too much in one spot, and now it looks weird. I’ll admit, I’m considering cropping it out of the pictures later.

“So why can’t I have it?”

This man will be my demise. I lean up on my toes, smacking a kiss to his nose. “You’ll burn yourself, genius. And I don’t want that.” Without warning, one of his legs wraps around me, pulling me in closer with a yelp.

His eyes are so dark, so captivating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any so deep before, the brown and grey swirling beneath the shadow of his lashes. “Fine. How long do I have to wait?”

I rest my hands on his thighs as he links his ankles at my back. “Well, I’d say around fifteen minutes at a minimum.” Seung Gil surprises me again by dragging me even closer, making me brace against the counter. “Then again, we could always wait longer if we find something better to do.” He doesn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence before tugging my jumper up and over my head, leaving me in my thin t-shirt. I laugh at his enthusiasm, cut short by a firm kiss. “Oh, my: in front of the cookies, Mr. Lee?”

His thumbs tap at the nape of my neck, arms slung over my shoulders. “We could go to your room, if you prefer.”

“Think I’m strong enough?”

“For what?” Seung Gil cocks his head to one side, one eyebrow raised in confusion. That expression is quickly exchanged for one of shock when I lift him off the counter, gripping his thighs and leaning his body against mine so I don’t drop him flat on the kitchen floor. He lets out an adorable giggle, squeezing me with both his arms and legs for dear life. “Are you seriously about to carry me?”

“Gonna try.” I laugh as I rush through the room, grateful to be stronger than I look. Not that Seung Gil is especially heavy, but I’m no body builder! Once I make it to the bed, I collapse with him in a pile of laughter and tangled limbs.

His hands creep up and down my back beneath my shirt, slowly inching against my skin. “Beautiful, tell me you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t.” I shake my head, shivering under his cold touch.

Seung Gil hums, not quite smiling. “Now tell me you don’t hate how cold my hands are.”

He’s never brought this up before, and his hands have been everywhere; is he self-conscious about it? Seems a trivial thing to be insecure about at this stage, but we all have our worries. I arch my back, embracing the iciness of his hands, leaving no room for doubt in my response: “I don’t.” Not breaking the contact, he pushes my shirt up, exposing my skin to the open air. I shudder with a shaky sigh, eyes falling half shut.

“Tell me you like when I kiss you.”

Hell, that’s an easy one. I lean towards him, waiting for his lips to close the space between us. One kiss isn’t enough, so I take the liberty of kissing him a couple more times. “I do.”

Perhaps that wasn’t as convincing as intended: Seung Gil takes more. He isn’t shy about it, either, pressing me to him so the only place my mouth can go is his. This kiss feels needy, almost desperate, and I’m not used to that. Now, I know he isn’t the most self-assured man on the planet, but I didn’t realize he could need this much physical reassurance out of the blue. If I can remember, I’ll bring it up later but I currently have a responsibility to show this wonderful human that I indeed like all of him, known quirks included. I like the way he feels under me, safe and welcoming. I like the way his hands feel on the skin at my back and neck, firm with a sense of softness. I like the warmth of his mouth and the way he tastes addictive and satisfying at once. I like the noises he makes that get caught in our kisses, low and intoxicating on my lips. I like Seung Gil more than I ever imagined I would and I can’t seem to stop falling further for him. I’ve forgotten how to breathe. He pulls away panting, one look at the soft vulnerability in his gaze stealing whatever air I have in my lungs away. “Tell me I can undress you.” The words are so quiet, I almost miss them.

I sit up, knees on either side of Seung Gil’s hips, and play with the hem of my shirt. “You wouldn’t prefer if I did it for you?” The amused look on his face when I make a show of taking the tee off leaves me with an odd sense of pride. Like, I was somehow able to wipe the uncertainty from his eyes and confirm he’s what I want: I did that. The shirt gets tossed to the side, movements optimized to show off what’s hidden underneath.

“As much as I enjoy watching you strip…”

He doesn’t finish that thought. Probably because I moved his hands to grab at the drawstring of my pants without any kind of warning. I don’t think I could ever tire of that pleased look on his face. With a grin, I lean next to Seung Gil’s ear. “You can do whatever you like, babe.” Magic words, I suppose: my clothes go flying along with his. For some reason, he always prefers being fully naked together during sex. I haven’t asked him about it and I certainly won’t argue with it. I mean, what better way to feel intimate than shared nudity, right? And I love feeling his skin on mine, so I’m all for it. “Are you cold?” I ask between gasps at the amazing skills of Seung Gil's hands. He marks my collarbone with a kiss, not bothering to look up from his task.

“Not even close.”

Of course not. I glance around, trying to figure out where the puffy comforter went before my eyes land on the floor, blanket crumpled there. “Grab me that…” My breath hitches, thoughts a jumbled mess while the rest of me is at Seung Gil's mercy. “Can you grab that blanket?” I turn his head so he can see what I’m talking about.

Quickly, eyes scan my face as if calculating what’s going on around him. Seung Gil frees his hands of me, draping the blanket around my shoulders like a cape. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were cold.”

I smile, grateful for the added warmth and for his consideration. The blanket stays over my back as I get comfortable on Seung Gil's lap. “No worries. I’m sure you can warm me up somehow.” The light pink over his face makes my heart stop in its tracks; it’s not fair that one man can be so adorable and sexy at the same time, but I can't complain when I’m the one who gets to see him like this. I gently push his chest so he can lie down. His dark hair spills against the pillows like running ink, making his dewy skin glow in contrast. Red lips part just slightly, bruised from messy kisses. I don’t think the view can get better until it does, all thanks to those relentless hips of his. Soon, my body actually does heat up, flames in my veins and sparks at every point of contact. “You’re too good at this.” I don’t mean to say that, but Seung Gil moans in response, so it must be what he wants to hear. With every word and sound of encouragement, the intensity rises in his eyes and movements in turn. For a moment, I struggle to keep up.

“My beautiful Phichit.”

The words are breathless, but I know I hear him correctly. Words so tender and sweet, they should be a crime to utter that way. I can’t form a coherent sentence, overwhelmed emotionally and physically, shouting mindlessly until my body can’t handle so much at once any longer. Seung Gil catches me when my arms fail to support me on my way back down to the mattress. I could live in this embrace, I swear. He eases me to his side, kissing every inch of my face. My chest rises and falls against his, hearts beating side by side. “How did I get so lucky?” I sigh. There's no place for an answer; not when he’s too busy kissing me.

“That’s my line.”

I laugh into our hug, tossing my arms around him. “You’re fun, in and out of bed.” He’s so much more than that, though. “And you’re sweet, and smart, and give the best kisses.” Which he demonstrates, yet again.

“You forgot one thing.”

I’ve left out many of his best traits, I’m sure, but give Seung Gil a curious look to see where this is going. “Did I?” He nods, brushing his nose against mine with a hum. “What'd I leave out?”

“Hungry.”

The forgotten cookies are arranged on a plate after a wardrobe change and quick cleanup, both of us moving at a snail's pace. Okay, I’m moving at a snail’s pace. It took Seung Gil physically dragging me out of bed to get me on my feet again. Then he took my towel and I chased him around the room to get it back. He let me wear his pullover sweatshirt for my troubles, so all is forgiven; when I lift the collar over my mouth, I can smell his cozy scent in the fabric. Seung Gil sets two mugs of tea on either side of the cookie plate, centerpiece on the coffee table. “Thank you.” I gesture out the window at the increasing snow. “It’s really coming down now.”

He spares the window a glance, sitting close enough to me so he can lean on my shoulder. “It is.”

I hold the plate up between us, allowing him to take three cookies. “You are hungry, aren’t you?” I laugh and take one myself. The first time I made this recipe was with my grandmother, probably twenty years ago. Seung Gil maintains his spot against my shoulder while eating, letting out a lengthy sigh. He’s being awfully cuddly right now. Perhaps now is a good time to bring up the cold hand situation from earlier. Before I do, though, I kiss the top of Seung Gil’s head and reach for his hand: physical reassurance is something we both enjoy. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can.”

“Do you dislike having cold hands, or something?” I lift our entwined fingers up, placing a kiss to is palm. Yeah, it’s not really warm, but I don’t care.

Instead of answering right away, he sighs again. “Uh, let me think.” What’s there to think about? I certainly hope this isn’t a bigger issue than I think it is; the last thing I want to do is make him uncomfortable.

“If you’d rather not talk about it, that’s okay. I was just curious.”

Seung Gil shakes his head, sitting up to look at me. “No, it’s not that.” He licks his lips in thought. “I’ve been told that my hands are too cold, that they don’t feel nice, I guess, and it makes me feel weird. I mean, I don’t know. It’s like I have a disease, or something, when people don’t want me to touch them.” A redness spreads over his cheeks and nose, eyes darting away from mine. “It’s stupid, I know, but it is what it is.”

I can’t imagine touching Seung Gil’s hand, or face, and having him recoil at the contact; I think that would crush me to a fine dust. “It’s not stupid, Seung Gil.” I grab both of his hands, squeezing them in mine. “If it bothers you, it matters.”

“Well, I mean…” He brings his focus back to me. “It doesn't bother you, right?”

A little smile from me seems to chase some of his blush away. “Of course it doesn't. I like how they feel.” His dark eyes are still stormy; I don’t want that look to linger. “And I like you.”

“Yeah?” Seung Gil asks in a timid voice. I nod because I mean every word. His shoulders drop on an exhale, somewhat pouting. “I know it might not be the most pleasant thing, but I can't change it; it's not my fault, and it doesn't make me less of a person, you know?” He shakes his head a bit. “Of all the things people have wanted me to change about myself, it had to be something out of my control.” Honestly, I could shake the stupid people from Seung Gil’s past until they get some sense in them. How the hell does one push a good soul away and make them feel abnormal?

I can’t help but roll my eyes, annoyed at these strangers I’ll probably never meet. “Those people clearly didn’t see what they had in front of them.” A small part of me aches at the thought of him being so willing to adapt for others; surely he would only change if he wanted to as well, right? “Do you want to change things about yourself?”

Maybe that’s a dumb question, but he gives a small shrug. “Yeah, but it takes time. Like the advice you and Eros gave me about trusting people? That isn’t an instant thing. I’m working on it.”

Should I bring up the party? It’d be a great opportunity for him to be more social; he could meet new people and get to know some of my friends. They won't judge him on trivial things, or make him feel like an outsider. “I’ve been meaning to bring something up with you. It’s about a party.” His eyes go wide, like he’s seen a ghost over my shoulder. Okay, maybe not the best idea to bring this up now? I haven’t even given any details yet! Is he that opposed? “Is…is that not something you’re interested in? I just thought it'll be fun and might help you open up more ‘cause you mentioned it was a problem for you. But only of you want help with that! I don’t want to force you to do anything and I’m not going to pressure you, but—”

“I’m sorry.” Seung Gil hangs his head just slightly. “I’m not saying no, I just…I wasn’t expecting that.”

I take a steadying breath so I can gather my thoughts. “Well, here’s the thing: it’s an anniversary party for one of my good friends and coworkers. Some of my best friends will be there, and it’s all about celebrating the happy couple, so nobody will be focused on new faces. It’s very low pressure.” I’m not sure I’m selling this idea very well; Seung Gil does not look enthused.

“Is this something important to you?”

Um, yes and no? Yes because I want him to know my friends, and be comfortable around them; no because it’s not my party and it isn’t something he absolutely needs to attend if he doesn’t feel like it. “I do want you to meet my friends.”

“Why?”

That’s a new one: why I want my boyfriend to meet my friends. I sort of chuckle, confused. “These are people who matter to me. I love these people, and they’ve been there for me through a lot. Pending we stay together, you’ll run into them here and there and it’d be cool if you knew them and got along with them.” If he needs more reasons, I have them. “I’m not asking you to love them or be their best friend, but they’re like family and they’re important to me.”

“I…I don’t know, P.” Seung Gil looks down at our hands, frowning. I hate that frown; it makes me ache.

“It’s not like it's tomorrow, so at least think it over. I think it could help you.” If he says no, I can go solo and that’ll be fine; I’m more concerned about this in the long term, though. Will he never get to know my friends? If not Yuri’s party, when will he meet them? I tell him the event’s in about two weeks, adding: “You don’t have to make a decision now.” Without another word, Seung Gil leans over and places his head on my chest. My hands immediately go to his back, rubbing circles there. I never meant to stress him out or upset him; that isn’t what I wanted at all. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I swear, I won’t be mad if you say no. I just thought it’d be fun to take you to something semiformal to meet my friends, especially since you said you wanted to work on your social skills.”

His arms snake around my torso, tight and secure. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, I thought that’s what you wanted! You can say no.”

“But it’s not like that.” Seung Gil repeats. “Give me a second so I can explain the right way, okay?” I hum in agreement, letting him sort through his own thoughts. I have patience to spare, so I never mind when Seung Gil has to take a moment to form words to his liking. At last, he sits up to look me in the eye. “I don’t feel pressured, or like I can’t say no. I don’t feel like I always have to agree with you, or do what you want. I’m not upset with you, either.” He pulls his legs up on the sofa, sitting cross-legged so he can fully turn to face me. “I know your friends really matter to you, and I know that it’s important for me to meet them at some point. It’s just…” Seung Gil slightly shakes his head to find the right words. “I haven’t had the best luck with stuff like this? Something about me and meeting friends of others…don’t mix well, I guess.”

Okay, maybe it’s better if he didn’t go with me. “If this is too much, that’s fine. I promise, you don’t have to say yes and we can find another time to get you out with friends.”

“What if I want to?” Wait, what? His expression softens, turning my insides to sentimental mush. “I…I want to go. I want to go out with you. I want to meet your friends and I want to get along with them. I want to have more friends. This isn’t easy for me, though.” I almost intervene again, but something about that determination in his eyes keeps me silent. “Large groups of people…I suck at that.”

“How so? Is it a fear, or anxiety? Do you just hate people that much?”

Seung Gil shrugs. “I guess an aversion?”

“Keep in mind, I’ll be with you.” I skim his cheek with my thumb. “If you do decide to go with me, you won’t be alone. I’ll be right by your side and won’t leave you by yourself if you don’t want me to. I want to support you.” I remind him. He leans into my hand, fingers sliding over mine.

“I can’t give you an answer right now, but I will think about it, alright?” That’s all I can ask for, I think. “I want to go with you, but I don’t know how I’ll feel when the time comes.” Seung Gil sort of smiles. Seeing his face in more of a happy expression puts me at ease, shoulders relaxing and heart settling. “Is that okay for now? I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.” I nod, excited at the prospect of showing Seung Gil off, and appreciative that he’s taking the time to think about the invitation at all. There’s still the chance that he’ll say no, but I’m okay with that.

I pull him in for a hug, holding too tight, I’m sure. “I know, and that’s alright.”

We don’t say anything for a moment, holding each other while our tea gets cold. After a while, Seung Gil pulls back for a brief kiss. “You’re too good for words. You know that, right, beautiful?” He smirks. I roll my eyes, trying not to grin as much as my body wants to so I don’t terrify him.

“No, but I’m not opposed to being told again.”

He doesn’t say another word: his smile tells me that I’ve said the right things, settled his fears enough for his eyes to shine again. I’ve grown quite fond of this man, far beyond friendship; seeing my feelings reflected back at me is nothing short of incredible. A strong urge to thank Seung Gil for being…well, himself, rushes to the front of my mind. Oddly enough, my voice gets caught in my throat and the words don’t seem like they’ll suffice. I grab a cookie instead, offering it up to his lips. He accepts the offering with the cutest little smile; clearly he trusts me to help him grow, and maybe that's enough for him to say yes in two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (narrator voice) Will Seung Gil say yes, or will he say no? Find out next week in the next chapter of Under Falling Snow~


	12. Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seung Gil finally makes a decision about the party! But first, we're going to visit Phichit in his dreams. Sound odd? It may be, but it was also fun to write hahha

On more than one occasion with my last ex, I had the same type of dream when I’d sleep next to him. Actually, sometimes it’d happen when we weren’t even in the same city. It also happened once when I accidentally fell asleep at Celestino’s place when we drank too much. In these dreams, life is good; I walk around with a sense of calm, a sense of contentment. Various things have happened in these dreams, like walking along an unfamiliar sidewalk or running after someone, or something, I can’t see. I sometimes have the feeling of being tired in the dream, and kind of annoyed that I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for. At some point, I’d run into my ex, or Ciao Ciao in that once instance. He’d smile at me, and we’d share a laugh over some confusing dialogue that I’ll never remember. The dream version of us will go on some adventure, maybe shopping or heading to an unknown destination, or whatever. I get this feeling of being ridiculously happy and decide right then and there to say I love him. The words never sound right, like if I’m saying them from a mile away or from behind a wall. Just as my dream ex would take a step closer, my body returns to consciousness to end the dream. Rather abruptly, I might add. I always hated getting those dreams. Like, why do I have to wander around so much, and why can’t I get those three words said back to me? I always shook the feeling off, and I’d sometimes wake my ex up and get him to say the words my dreams never allowed me to hear; reality has more weight than a silly dream, after all.

Now, this current dream is mostly familiar but rather new at the same time. I’m walking around on a sidewalk. The buildings around me sort of look like downtown, but I don’t actually recognize anything. I feel at ease, as usual; it’s a nice day and there’s no trace of irritation yet. The further I walk, the more expectant I feel. What am I looking for? I start to worry, just slightly, that I’ll never find whatever it is I’m keeping my eyes open for; I’ll just keep searching and searching for a phantom. Right when I turn a corner, I bump into a face I’d know anywhere: it's Seung Gil! He looks kind of nervous, but I can’t imagine why. I also can’t imagine why he has his hands behind his back like that, like he’s hiding something. I point at him, asking what he's got back there.

Even in my dreams, Seung Gil Lee isn't one for words. He smiles, though, and shows me what he’s holding: a fluffy little puppy! It’s the cutest little thing, tail wagging and itty bitty paws scrambling for purchase in his hands.

With many thanks, I hold the dog to me, cradling her like a newborn. How do I know it’s a female dog? I just do, I guess. I’ve never had a dog before, but excitedly tell my boyfriend that I’m happy and grateful for the gift. Then a thought occurs to me: he’s gone through the trouble of selecting the most adorable dog on the planet for me, and I have no animals to give him in return. What am I supposed to do? I apologize, going so far as to ask for forgiveness, and explain that I don’t have a dog for Seung Gil.

He shrugs and suggests we can share the dog: she’ll be ours, not just mine.

This idea is brilliant to me, and I tell him he's so smart and considerate. It's apparently the best idea I’ve ever heard and he's apparently the best person I’ve ever met. That’s when I tell him something I haven’t actually said in real life: I tell him I love him.

Now, this is the part where I’m supposed to wait on bated breath for no response and jolt myself awake at his side and pester him to say it back. However, I’m still on the path to feeling this way about him in the waking world; we haven’t exchanged such words in real life, and I’m sure it’s not the right time or place to say them now. The me in my dream is very forward, though, and let the words loose on Seung Gil without hesitation. I should've woken up by now, but I’m still in my dream with a dog in my arms as my boyfriend tells me he loves me, too…wait, did I hear that right? Nobody has ever said that to my dream self before! I don’t get to see what happens next because something hits me in the side, waking me from an entirely new dream experience, but I’m still smiling; I can’t help it. It looks like an arm around me is what woke me. Seung Gil is still asleep, breathing against my shoulder. I gently rest my hand on his arm, processing the imaginary events I’m quickly forgetting.

One: I didn’t get mad at not being able to find what I was searching for. Two: I found it, and it was Seung Gil. Three: he gave me a present instead of taking me on another fruitless journey. Four: I didn't wake up after my admission. Five: the words were said back to me. Oh, and six: I woke up smiling without the urge to wake him up, too. I’ve had eerily similar dreams several times before and they’ve never gone down this way.

“You awake?” Seung Gil's sleepy words break my focus, the remnants of my dream finally slipping away.

“Sort of.” I yawn, still tired.

Last night, we watched a movie trilogy and didn’t get to bed until an unreasonable hour; he didn’t complain or nod off once. “Still early?”

It’s still quite dark out, so I nod. “I think so.”

We’ve seriously only gotten a few hours of sleep? No wonder I yawn again. Seung Gil tightens his hold on me, sigh caressing the back of my neck. “More sleep now.” His mumbled words may or may not form a real sentence, but I take them as sound advice. Maybe I’ll have the dream again and get to see what happens. At any rate, we both need our beauty rest and I’d like to take advantage of this solid gold snuggling. Without a word, I agree to this sleep plan and relax into his arms, still smiling.

The next thing I can discern in my drowsy state is something brushing against my cheek, then mouth. When I blink my eyes open, a blurry Seung Gil comes into view, too close for my half-asleep eyes to clearly make out. What’s that sweet taste on his lips? I hold him in place, licking at the flavor until its source clicks: “Hot chocolate?” I chuckle.

Seung Gil really likes this game, sneaking his way past my lips instead of confirming my guess. I can’t complain: the man is a talented kisser. “Want some?”

“I’ve got some here.” I smirk, going in for more deep, chocolate kisses. I can’t help but notice that he’s dressed in addition to obviously having gotten out of bed at some point to obtain the drink in question; I wonder how long he’s been up. Sloppy, sleepy kisses seem like a much better idea than putting on a shirt and getting out of bed to me, though. “How long have you been up?” I ask between gasps for breath. Seung Gil shrugs.

“Probably half an hour.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, sitting up. “I came back to check on you, and you were smiling in your sleep.”

I don’t like how far he is from me, so I sit up, too. My hands rest comfortably at his waist while his sit at my lower back. “I was? That happened earlier, too.” All my mouth wants to do is find his; it feels like home and acceptance.

“What, smiling in your sleep?” Seung Gil looks incredulous. I nod, making him laugh lightly. “How do you know you were smiling if you were asleep?”

I laugh into our kiss, amused at the thought of being awake and asleep at the same time. “You’re hilarious. I woke up smiling, so I assume I must’ve been doing the same while asleep.” I explain between kisses to his cheeks, nose, forehead. “I had a good dream.”

“What was it about?”

Honestly, I don’t remember all of it. I remember a puppy, Seung Gil and an exchange of words, but I think the whole experience was what made me smile, not the dream’s individual components. Instead of explaining all of this, I just smile and say: “You were in it.” This earns me a gorgeous smile and a flood of color across his face. He doesn’t say it, but I think hearing that I like being with him puts him in a good mood. I mean, it is a pleasant thing to hear from someone; I know I appreciate hearing that sort of thing.

“Do you want to watch the snow with me?” He asks, almost shyly. I adore that dimple in his cheek, the one that only appears when he smiles just so.

“I have to get dressed first, but yeah. I’ll meet you in the living room.”

After he leaves, I rummage through his overnight bag: the contents are spilling out, so I don’t need to search far to find the shirt he wore last night or the knit cap he brought in case we go out. Does it seem overbearing to wear so much of Seung Gil's clothes? I don’t want him getting the wrong idea that I’m, like, clingy or something, but his shirt feels and smells cozy and the hat looks cute on him and I want to look cute, too; I’ll wear my own pants, then. I think it'd come across as more possessive if I wore his sweats, so I definitely won’t. Ugh, now I’m thinking about this too much. Does he even want me to wear his stuff? He’s never said no, but maybe I should’ve asked. When I find him on the sofa, he's staring out the window as tiny flakes whirl around in the breeze. He notices me standing nearby, gesturing with his steaming mug at a matching cup on the table. “Made you some. I don’t think I added too much cinnamon, but I could be wrong.” Seung Gil chuckles and resumes watching the weather, unaware of how erratic he’s just made my heart beat. When did I tell him I add cinnamon to my hot chocolate? How did he even remember that? Shaking my head, I remind myself I'm supposed to ask him about borrowing shirts and not get distracted by his kindness. He turns to me when I sit, sampling my drink. “Is it okay?” More than okay; the only thing that could make it better is sesame shortbread cookies to go with it, but those are long gone. I nod, too busy drinking to properly respond. Seung Gil smirks, amused at my reaction. “That spice was given to Greek gods as a gift, you know. And to ancient Egyptian kings.”

I lick my lips, savoring the warm taste to the fullest. “Mm, thank you. I did not know that. They had excellent taste.” His eyes pause at the hat on my head, blinking once. My hand instinctively reaches to it. “Um, I know it’s kind of late, but do you mind? Like, me wearing your stuff? I know I should've asked before, but I didn't think to, and…um, yeah.” Real smooth.

“You always wear my stuff.”

Not really an answer. “Is that okay with you?”

“Sure it is.” He shrugs. “If it bothered me, I would’ve told you.” Well, I suppose that might be true. There are some things that I know he wouldn’t say, though. If I put on a shirt that he wanted to wear, he wouldn’t say to take it off or that he’d rather have it; he’d just put on something else. This isn’t an issue, but makes me wonder if it could be in other instances. When I asked him about the party, I felt so guilty, as if I was convincing him to do something he’d rather not do. He said that wasn’t the case, but we haven’t talked about the party since and it only adds to my guilt. “Phichit?” Seung Gil moves closer to me, abandoning his cup. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You know how I invited you to my friend’s party, the one in a couple days?” I watch him nod, eyes wide with concern. “Was that…too pushy of me? Or too forward?”

Now he frowns, biting his bottom lip. “What do you mean?”

I sigh, hating how insecure I sound. I mean, I know I can be a lot to handle; there’s a lot of personality in these bones. But it’s hard to explain out loud. “I go out with my friends a lot, as you know. I like being around people and having places to go, but that’s who I am; it’s not necessarily who you are. Sometimes I can be pushy, and that’s not on purpose.” I hug my legs to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. “That, and we haven’t been dating that long? You’ll have other chances—I mean, I think we’ll have other chances—for you to meet my friends in the future. I don’t want to go too fast too soon. Am I doing that? Because I’m not trying to. You said you wanted to try being more social and I just want to help. I thought this would be a helpful experience.” Why the hell do I keep rambling? The filter from brain to mouth is seriously lacking, and I just know the heat rushing to my face means embarrassing redness there.

“Is that why you think I haven’t said yes?”

Okay, maybe I hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but… “Maybe.” I groan. “It’s not like I’ll be upset if you say no! I’d just hate to think that by trying to be closer to you, I’m pushing you away.” I hate to admit it, but my clinginess has had a hand in ruining relationships before. “Being clingy isn’t cute.”

Seung Gil shakes his head, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Well that’s excellent. With another groan, I hide my face and wait for the sofa to swallow me whole. “Uh, that sounded bad. I mean that…I don’t think you’re being clingy or pushy.” He explains. I don’t come out of my hiding place, shoulders sagging. “It’s not too much too fast. It’s not an unreasonable invitation. I already told you that I want to go. I want to do things you like and be a better me.” He starts like there’s more on his tongue, but decides to exhale instead, hands on either side of my face. “P, please look at me.” I follow through with his request, but pout as well. “Is this really about the party?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve been called overbearing and needy in the past when I asked why I was being dumped.” I roll my eyes, annoyed at how miserable I sound. “I don’t want any pity.”

“Come here.” Seung Gil tugs at my arms.

“Why?” I sigh.

“Come here.” He repeats, and I relent, falling into a hug. “That hasn’t been a problem yet.” Yet? Is that supposed to make me feel better? “I like your personality. Do you want me to tell you if I think you’re being a handful?”

If I say yes, I’ll have to trust that he’ll follow through. “If I stop being my best self, please say something.”

Seung Gil chuckles; a weight falls away from me, air returning to my lungs. “Do the same for me.”

I pull back to look him in his eyes; so deep, so captivating. “You’re astonishingly easy to talk to. Do you know that?” I shake my head in disbelief. “No bullshitting at all.” This makes him laugh, but I don’t know why. “What’s so funny? It’s a rare trait for a person to have!”

“Nobody has ever considered me easy to talk to. Not in my entire life.”

“They clearly never talked enough with you, then, Mr. Lee.” I reply without much thought. However, it becomes quite clear that Seung Gil considers this comment as very thoughtful: my face gets peppered relentlessly with kisses until I’m laughing too much. “Babe! What’re you doing?” Sometimes Seung Gil can be spontaneous in his own right; it’s charming.

He pulls away at last, grinning. “Let’s go make lunch.”

Being in the kitchen usually improves my mood, especially when Seung Gil comes across a song in his head and decides to sing it out loud. He never sings very loudly and doesn’t always know all the words, but his voice is melodic and calming and always cheers me up. After deciding we’ll make stir fry noodles, he starts singing an unfamiliar little tune while slicing chicken. If that isn’t stupidly adorable enough, the man starts to dance in place, swaying his hips and moving his shoulders. I laugh, shaking my head. “Please don’t cut yourself.”

He doesn’t stop dancing, setting the knife aside and showcasing his work. “Already done.” Seung Gil scoops up the meat and resumes his singing, filling the pan evenly.

I wish I knew this song so I could sing with him. At the same time, it’s nice to stand back and watch him star in his own performance; it isn’t often that he steps in the spotlight, and it probably isn’t even on purpose that he’s doing so now. “Can you grab the container of chopped carrots and peppers?” I ask since I’ve started the noodles.

Still dancing, he moves to the fridge. “Do I have to?” Seung Gil asks in the tune of his song. I laugh, nodding, and get a snippy eye roll in return.

“Yes, in fact, you do.”

He tosses the container to the counter, sitting up beside it with a pout. “Are you adding all of them?” The music in his head has evidently stopped at the mere thought of ingesting vegetables. “Maybe you could just put some?” In all honesty, there’s less than a whole carrot and maybe half a bell pepper; he’ll live, I’m sure: in the pan they all go. Seung Gil sighs, leaning back. “Why do you hate me?”

I don’t even get a chance to breathe before laughter spills out, honest and unyielding. “You’re ridiculous!” My words don’t come out right when my lungs are struggling. When I straighten up and get some proper air, I shake my head. “You are something else, my friend.”

“Is it my fault those are gross?” Seung Gil scoffs with a smirk.

“At least it isn’t spinach or broccoli.” I tap my chin in thought. “Actually, I may have some in the fridge somewhere…”

“Phichit.”

Such a serious tone! I laugh again, deciding he’s had enough teasing for the moment. “Alright, alright.” I nudge his leg, getting back to the stove. “What was that song you were singing, anyway? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, absently swinging one leg at the knee. “Heard it at work yesterday. Or the day before? I don’t remember.”

“You have to get up so early.” Considering how little he actually sleeps, 7 AM is pretty brutal. “And with barely any sleep. It’s a wonder you can even do your job. I’d be falling asleep at my computer if I were you.” The other night, he didn’t sleep until I was almost done with my shift; four hours later, he was getting ready for work.

He licks his lips in thought. “I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“But four hours on a weeknight?”

“I’m serious. It’s not that bad.” He says more, but it’s mumbled and the food is sizzling too loudly for me to hear.

“Wait, what’d you say?” I lower the heat to decrease the noise.

“I said I sleep better with you.” Seung Gil practically shouts, instantly turning red at his volume. “Sorry. I…I said that really loud. I don’t always sleep more, but I sleep better with you there. Even if it is for only a few hours.” He explains. “You’re warm and stuff.”

Having my schedule means missing entire mornings and staying up all night; I sleep when most people work and work while everyone’s asleep. It’s made things complicated and unpleasant before, especially when people can’t meet me in some sort of middle ground. Naturally, Seung Gil is different: there are days when I get out of bed and meet him for a meal, going back to my place to hang out before work while he listens to my show and sleeps in my bed until I get back; then we get to spend a few hours in bed before he leaves for work. I learned early on that his schedule virtually stayed the same after we started dating; no compromising, no unpleasantness, no problem. Having an insomniac boyfriend has its perks, I think. “You’re the first person I’ve meet who hasn’t complained about my schedule.”

“I am?”

I nod, finishing up our meal. “Yeah, you sorta fit right in it.” He hums in thought but stays quiet. “You really sleep better beside someone?”

“Beside you.” Seung Gil smirks.

Flattered, I smile. “I’m glad.” Shortly after the words leave my mouth, he hops down from the counter and stands next to me, silent. I turn, blinking at his shining eyes. “Seung Gil?”

“I’ll go.”

He wants to leave, now? I don’t understand what’s happening. “Wait, what do you mean?”

The confusion and, yes, disappointment must be pretty obvious because he grabs me by the shoulders with this weird look on his face. “That sounded shitty! Sorry, I meant the party.” The rush of color from Seung Gil’s complexion starts to fade. “I’ll go with you to your friend’s party.” Oh, that’s what he meant?! I cover my laugh.

“I thought you meant leave! You confused me.” I shake my head and pat one of his hands. “You really want to go?”

Seung Gil nods, a small smile growing. “Yeah, I do.”

“It’ll be fun.” Hopefully this sounds reassuring and not terrifying.

“Can I ask for a favor?” He slides his hands down my arms, lacing our fingers together. I nod for him to continue. “Don’t…uh, don’t leave me alone with strange people. I’m not saying you’ll ditch me, but I won’t know anyone else but you, so…”

That’s not a favor: that’s a given! “Absolutely. I’ll be with you the whole time. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable, just say the word and we can go get some air, and if you don’t feel like staying, we can go.”

“I don’t want you to leave your friends, though.”

I shrug. “I’ll see them again. If you honestly want to duck out early, I can walk you to the car and then go say bye to my friends? That way you can wind down and we don’t seem rude.” Plus, I would never make him hang around any longer than needed; that would be cruel. Seung Gil exhales, nodding an agreement. “Does that work for you? You tell me you’re no longer having a good time, I’ll walk you out and tell people we’re going home?”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“Of course I am.” I squeeze his hands, smiling when he squeezes back. “We’ll have a good evening and my friends will adore you so much, I’ll have to remind them that you’re mine.” As intended, this makes him laugh. When Seung Gil laughs, all is well. “Did you want to go with me when I get the couple a gift? You can help me pick something out.”

“I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.”

“What if I buy you a burger after?”

This offer is so tempting, Seung Gil’s stomach answers for him in a lengthy growl. It’s an impressive testament to his hunger, I’ll say; good thing food is on the way! While I’m laughing, he replies: “I’ll take you up on that, but I think it’s time for lunch now.” He doesn’t wait for me to grab him a bowl; he straight up reaches into the pan, picking out a sizeable chunk of chicken and popping it in his mouth.

“Seung Gil!” I gasp. He must not have burned himself because he’s laughing. “What the hell?” It’s hard to stay frustrated with him when he offers me a piece, holding it up to my mouth. I mean, I can’t not take it, right? An eye roll is required, just so he knows I’m not thrilled, but I can’t say no when he makes that face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IRL, there's a lot going on with me. I won’t bore you with details but getting to sneak in fluff wherever I can helps me feel better, so it's going to happen, even when the plot seems like it's not going that direction. Keep in mind, this isn’t an angst fic, but the next couple chapters have some struggles for the sake of character growth; be on the lookout for the fluffy stuff, eh? Have a good week~


	13. Pace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back to the office in this slightly shorter update, which means more Seung Gil and Otabek! IDK, I like these two as friends hahha Yes, there’s food in this chapter; no, I’m not ashamed XD Just a warning: some of this chapter involves a some anxiety and mania, so heads up; I think it’s mild, but everybody’s different, so be aware and take care while you read, okay?

When the others on the floor tell a customer they’ll ‘go check in the back’ to placate them, this is the room they go to. Are there more copies of books here? Yes, but only a select few in a couple boxes and everyone at the office knows this. We don’t carry shelves and shelves of overstock and we don’t get shipments every other day; this room is mostly for flattened boxes and office supplies and shit that doesn't work like it's supposed to. The wind outside is nearly palpable due to the fact that there’s no temperature regulation back here. During these winter months, it’s colder than the refrigerator in the breakroom. Under the roller door, a small puddle often forms from leftover snow dripping through. I’ve seen it freeze on multiple occasions, but mostly it’s just grimy water with an orange cone beside it. One of the shelves, the one with staplers that shoot springs and pens without caps, sits in the middle of the room at a strange angle, not quite parallel or perpendicular to anything around it. In the corner, boxes of unsellable merchandise collect dust and lean up against the assortment of standees and signs from past sales, events and book signings. I once heard that a bird made a nest in that gap between the ceiling and the far wall, and its offspring come back to roost there in the spring. The lights don’t work well, and every step on the cement floor makes a lonely echo.

All in all, this makes for the best hiding place in the entire building. Nobody comes back here unless they absolutely need to, the same way nobody talks to me unless they need to. I told Otabek that I’d be back here checking on some inventory shit lie or something; I don’t even remember, but I had to get out of that tiny room or I’d have a meltdown. The sound of the other three clicking at their computers, click click click tap click, and the clock on the wall with its dreadful toc toc toc every second of every minute of every hour combined with the numbers I had to analyze on my screen mixed in with symbols to make black and red figures got to be a burden on my brain. I mean, I got through what I was supposed to today; in record time, probably. Keeping my mind on work was a great distraction from everything else in my life. Saving, doublechecking, saving again, uploading and printing were quick to complete. My remaining time is the issue: that’s why I’m back here. My clipboard is a total façade, filled with dummy numbers and random things I illegibly scribble. For a while, I was content to filter through boxes and make notes on the paper; six was a pretty popular number for some reason. Then I started to let my mind wander and promptly stood up from the box and began pacing. To the puddle, to the supposed bird nest, to the corner, around the shelf, around the other shelf, near the door and back again. I have another project I could be working on; I should really get back to it, but maybe a moment in this cold area will keep all my pieces together. I think I have everything I need to start the project, but I’ll have to check the updated folder. I may even need to ask Otabek for a certain set of spreadsheets, but I think they’re on the shared drive so I’ll have access to them. When I pass the box again, I can’t help but wonder why the books haven’t been sent somewhere else. Maybe I’ll volunteer to donate them if nobody has a better idea. That could be written off, I’m sure; a donation is a donation. The store once had a sale for the holiday season with discounted merchandise. Not this year, but the ones before. There’s probably a good reason why they didn’t this year, but I don’t know what that reason might be. I wonder if I could find anything interesting in that overturned box on the shelf. Actually, I don’t think I can reach that shelf; when I look up, I know I can’t get to it without help so decide to keep pacing. If I stacked up some of those books, I could probably be tall enough, but I’m sure the stack would topple over and that’s pretty much asking for a staff meeting over workplace safety and I’d rather be forced to listen to the women in the office gossip about celebrities I’ve never heard of. Trust me, that—

“Seung Gil!”

“Holy fuck!” The words fly right out of my mouth without permission. The voice and the grip on my shoulder scared the absolute shit out of me, though; my heart nearly flew out of my chest. I press on my sternum to keep my organs inside, catching my breath. It finally registers that it’s Otabek who’s touching me. “Goddamn it, Otabek! What’re you trying to do?” I’m not sure why I’m yelling; I think I hate being scared like that, but I know he didn’t mean to do it.

He’s frowning, too, but it’s not his normal frown. It looks weird, like he’s taking this personally. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

I rub my eyes, frustrated with myself and my lack of awareness. Anybody could’ve snuck up on me, and I wouldn’t have known. “What?” I sigh.

“I said your name, like, ten times. You couldn’t hear me?”

“No. What is it? What’re you doing back here?” I reach down to find the clipboard I’d dropped when he interrupted my pacing and mental ranting.

Otabek folds his arms over his chest, expression staying the same. “You’ve been back here for more than three hours. Nobody goes back here, let alone for three straight hours.” Since he didn’t answer me or even ask a question of his own, I stay silent and stare at the floor. He has nice shoes, but they look too expensive for my taste. “Are you okay?” He finally asks. I’m not sure how to answer that, opting to sigh and avoid eye contact some more. Well, until he grabs me by the shoulders not too gently. “Look at me.” Okay, fine; damn. When I return his glare, I realize the reason he looked so off is that his eyes aren’t piercing at all; he looks concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m nervous.”

Oh, hell; that’s not what I wanted to say. I mean, it’s what I was thinking, what I was running from, but I meant to say I was fine. Otabek’s shoulders fall, eyes softening even more. “Come with me.” He wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me from the room.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting you out of here.”

“We’re supposed to be working, dum-dum.”

“Neither of us took a lunch yet, so just cooperate.” He says in a lighter tone before we clock out. I didn’t realize it was almost 3 PM. Why didn’t he go on his lunch break? It's not like him to skip a meal; he's weirdly regimented with things like that. I can’t find it in me to ask, or even to complain about being pulled around like an unruly child; I just go with it. Next thing I know, I’m sitting across from Otabek with pizza and soda between us. “You need to eat.”

I don't understand why he’s doing this. “Why?”

“You haven’t eaten, and you probably haven’t slept. It’s on me, alright?” He insists, demonstrating that pizza is for eating and root beer is for drinking. I’m not really hungry, but he’s right: I haven’t been sleeping well and I don’t remember the last thing I ate. “I’m not expecting you to tell me what’s up, but I can’t have you losing your shit at the office, or running yourself ragged.”

I stare at my plate while I eat, hands weak and trembling. Something is bothering me, but I can't bring myself to tell the one person I should be telling; he's not like other people, and I shouldn’t compare him to them. “I don’t like meeting friends.”

Otabek blinks, pausing mid-bite. When he gets a chance, he simply asks: “What?”

I realize I misspoke. “I mean the friends of my boyfriends.” That sounds worse, I think. “The ones in the past, I guess.”

“Oh. That's what’s going on?”

“This weekend.” I sigh, drowning my sorrows in dark, bubbly sugar, settling in my weary stomach. “His friends are like family to him, and I do want to meet them. Important to him, important to me.” Otabek stays quiet while I attempt to explain. “I’m used to this sort of thing ending badly, and I can’t help but assume it’ll happen again.”

He clears his throat, frowning again. “Can I ask what exactly you think will happen?”

“I’ll be judged.” I meet his stare, mirroring his expression. “Life isn’t fair to introverted people. If you’re quiet, if you’d rather stand off to the side, something must be wrong or something must be fixed. There has to be a way to bring me out of my shell, to make me normal. But this is my normal.” Parties suck. People suck. I want to be a better me, my best me; I don’t want to be someone else.

Sitting back in his chair, his eyes fall to his plate. “I understand.” He doesn’t need to say more for me to believe him. “It's easy enough for a group of people to meet one person, but people don’t realize how hard it can be for one person to meet a group.”

Did I really have someone who understood this struggle sitting mere feet away from me for years? “I know! But if you say that, they make you feel like an asshole.”

He laughs with a brief nod. “I know, but sometimes they just don’t get it.” Otabek shrugs. “It's not our job to let it bother us, though. They can judge all they want, but that’s not gonna change who we are. Anyone who can’t handle that can probably fuck off.”

I nod, picking at my food. “But what if that person matters to someone special?”

“Like, someone close to your man?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to embarrass myself or him.”

He thinks this over with help from his soda. “I think it can be worked on. If it matters, it can be improved, don’t you think?” He asks. Well, I suppose it makes sense; I don’t want to make bad impressions but if it can’t be helped, it can probably be fixed. I nod, picking up my food again. I’ve been to this place before, and made it my go-to for delivery back when I hadn’t made my resolution yet; I guess Otabek doesn’t have that bad of taste in food. “So is this, like, a meet my boyfriend thing?”

“It's an anniversary party for one of his friends.” When I tell him the date and venue, he starts to laugh. Like, enough that people start to look our direction. “Shut up! What’s funny about that?” I whisper-yell at him.

When he settles down, he shakes his head. “That’s my party. You’re coming to my anniversary party, Seung Gil.”

Okay, yeah: that is kind of funny. It's also a little awkward, considering we didn’t know that until now. “You're kidding.” I laugh, too, shocked by the tiny world we live in. He shakes his head no, he isn’t kidding. “How weird is that? You wouldn’t have known until you saw me walk in with Phichit.”

“So you’re Phichit's boyfriend.” Otabek smirks. “I’ve heard of you through Yuri.”

Wait, Yuri? Not Yuuri, who's married to Victor; Yuri as in Phichit's coworker during the…morning show. “So that’s why you listen to that shitty music before lunch!”

“I told you, I don’t listen for the music.”

Yeah, no kidding. “I had no clue.” No clue Otabek was married to Tiger in the morning, but also that he’s been married for three years. “Oh, congratulations on three years. What should I buy you?”

“Thanks.” Otabek chuckles, getting back to eating. “I don’t know. Alcohol?”

“Like, champagne?”

“Sure.”

I nod, making a mental note to be useful to Phichit when we go to the store. “Okay.”

He sits back again, amused. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about. Phichit won’t leave you hanging, and I’ll be there, too, if he does. You'll survive.” I have a feeling Otabek knows this, but those words are oddly comforting. Knowing I won’t be forced to struggle alone makes this whole party thing less of a big deal.

“That’s…that’s true.”

“Besides, I know his friends. They can be loud and nosy, but they mean well. They know how to back off if someone’s uncomfortable.” He adds.

I’ve heard the same from Phichit, but again, it’s nice to hear from someone else, too. “Anyone I should be worried about?”

“Yuri.”

He’s smirking, but I think he’s serious. “His best friend?”

“No.”

“Your husband?”

“That’s the one.” Why he laughs is beyond me. “Don’t let him scare you.”

Is that reassuring? That doesn’t feel reassuring; that feels threatening. Since he doesn’t say more on the matter, I just shrug it off. “Um, alright. Thanks.” Yes, thank you for warning me about your scary husband who I will be handing a bottle of booze.

“Why the running around in the back room, by the way? If I may ask.”

I learned long ago that my body will react to stress without me having to feel stressed. In school, I logically understood that there was nothing to fear when giving speeches or presentations; however, my body reacted as if I’d been overthinking the whole situation: sweaty palms, increased heartrate, queasy stomach. It’s like my brain and the rest of my body work on different wavelengths. During times when I knew I’d physically get stressed out, I tried talking some sense into myself. There’s the usual ‘there’s no need to be afraid,’ and the classic ‘nothing to fear but fear itself.’ If the situation called for it, I’d even try ‘it’ll be over before you know it.’ At first, like when I was pretty young, this helped a bit: deep breaths, dive in and do what needs to be done. As I got older, this unfortunately stopped working. Talking to myself about how I had nothing to worry about didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it made things worse. Sometimes things got so bad that I couldn’t even handle thinking about what was stressing me out; the idea of impending doom and being helpless against it couldn’t be squashed. I’d do whatever it took to get the thought out of my head, often jumping from task to task and losing myself in whatever I was doing. This doesn’t work so well when it’s time for sleep, and my traitorous brain focuses in on the one thing I’m trying to avoid. Being an insomniac doesn’t help matters, either, only worsening things. I once stayed up for two straight days cleaning every last inch of my dorm room so I wouldn’t have to think about a meeting my advisor threw at me to discuss my resumé. I scared my neighbor when I didn’t realize the time and began vacuuming the blinds covering my window. I’m not sure where this excess energy comes from, but it just appears when I know stress is coming and physically running around helps; most likely adrenaline. Otabek has been a great help today, more so than I expected, but there’s no way in hell I’m throwing all of this information at him. “Nervous energy. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s fine.” He takes this into consideration, nodding slowly. “Silence.”

Is that his way of telling me to shut up? “What?”

“It’s what happens to me under stress.”

Ah, I get it now. “Oh, yeah?” I can’t imagine keeping quiet is helpful, but then again, distracting oneself instead of acknowledging a problem isn’t all that beneficial either.

“Yeah. It’s not on purpose, but I just kinda withdraw entirely.”

“Doesn’t that lead to overthinking?” I wonder out loud.

He nods, pausing to refill his cup with our shared pitcher. “Sure does.” Otabek shrugs. “But I hate venting about bullshit. Everything works itself out, anyway, so whatever.”

In a way, I get it completely: no sense in complaining about something that’ll shortly be a nonissue. On the other hand, marinating in worries does nothing for morale; it’s exhausting both mentally and physically. I could be wrong, but I’m sure Otabek’s husband would listen to his problems if he shared them. I mean, I’m listening to him and we don’t even know each other that well. “Your life, I guess.”

Otabek laughs, narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you trying to counsel me, Seung Gil?”

I roll my eyes, scoffing at the thought of having my life together enough to be able to give others advice on theirs. “Not even close. Just seems destructive, that’s all.”

“That’s all.” He repeats. “I’ve been told similar things.”

“By Yuri?”

“Mostly.” Otabek pouts, staring down instead of at me. “I can handle my own shit.”

I’m not trying to change his life, or anything. I didn’t even think what I said would hold any weight to him. “Sure you can, but you don’t have to. I mean, you have friends and stuff. Isn’t that what a spouse is there for, too? You’re the married one, so I don’t know, but I thought marriage meant not being alone.” Ugh, I sound preachy, cringing a little at my own words. “Sorry. I’m not trying to lecture. I’m in no place, so…forget it.”

Another grumpy frown aimed at me? “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Minimize your opinions.” He shakes his head. “And, anyway, I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh?”

“Yup.” Otabek smirks again. “I’ll work on not bottling up, and you work on not pacing around like a plotting serial killer.” I can’t consider this when I’m laughing so much; I sincerely hope he’s exaggerating! “Do we have a deal?” He holds his hand out across the table, waiting for me to shake on an agreement. Well, if I can convince him to work on himself, there’s no reason why I can’t try to become less of a tangled knot of nervous energy every time something intimidates me.

I shake Otabek’s hand, returning his smirk. “Alright, deal.”

Not that anyone would care, but I’m pretty sure our lunch is longer than it should be. Neither of us mentions it; we just stroll back in and sit at our respective desks. While we were eating, I forgot to ask him why he had waited so long to leave for food. Maybe he’s gotten used to me offering to pick something up for him. “Question.” I look over my shoulder, but Otabek doesn’t turn around.

“Answer.”

“Why didn’t you go to lunch earlier? Weren’t you hungry?”

He chuckles, finally turning enough for me to see his smile. “Yeah, but I was waiting for you.”

Very straightforward. On my end, it feels like we’ve exchanged more words over pizza than we have in our entire careers together; those words weren’t small or shallow, either. The mutual quiet that falls over us puts me at ease, enough to read over some project notes in peace. I’ve done so much work already, I can’t find it in myself to do any more for the day. The small clock on my monitor says that Phichit should be up by now, though it’s anyone’s guess if he’s busy or not. I pull my phone out and shoot him a text: ‘Afternoon, P. Turns out I know what to get the couple for the party.’ I don’t wait for a reply; I leave my phone out and browse some recently uploaded files.

To my surprise, a reply comes right away: ‘Hi :D how do you know & what’s your idea?’

I could just answer him with words, but where’s the fun in that? “O.” I hold my phone up in Otabek’s direction, waiting for him to turn around. He quirks an eyebrow, confused. “It’s for Phichit.” With that, he poses with his chin on one hand, turning to show his profile. I laugh and take the picture anyway; he only breaks out in his own laughter when I put the phone down.

“Did I look professional?” Otabek asks over his shoulder.

The picture gets a caption: ‘He requests champagne.’ I roll my eyes at my coworker, sending the image to Phichit. “Employee of the month. I’ll have to send it to you.”

“Please don’t.” He laughs, returning to his computer.

I set my phone to the side and stare at my own monitor. I’ll be getting ready for the party in two days; semiformal and wrapping up a present in a way that Phichit will probably end up redoing anyway. I’m not gonna lie: thinking about everything is still not feeling great. Yes, I’m better prepared now, but an hour with Otabek hasn’t made my body forget that I don’t like large groups of people or embarrassing myself in front of them; meeting so many strangers in one night is still going to be a short trip to hell and I’m fighting the urge to leave the room to keep my mind off it all. Can I really do this? I turn back around, watching Otabek type away at something. “So, do you really mean that?”

“Mean what?” He doesn’t lose focus, but his tone is curious.

“That your party won’t kill me.”

Now he turns his chair my direction, holding one thumb up. “Yeah, I got your back.”

Okay, I can do this: I’ve got this. I nod in response, picking my phone back up to find a new message on it: ‘Whaaaaat OMG you work w my friend’s hubby lmao why didn’t we know this?’

I can’t stay stuck in my own fears forever. I won’t say this event will end well because I honestly don’t know what’ll happen. I do know I’ll be okay, and I have to start somewhere. It sucks, but I have to try; I’m tired of being lonely. ‘Surprised me, too. He’s a good guy.’

‘Yeah, cool that you’re friends :D Another reason we’ll have fun this weekend!’

Phichit took my phone once and added in a selfie as his contact photo, one with sleepy bedhead and my shirt on. Every time I look at it, I smile; somehow, even when I want to break down and make excuses and ask Otabek to cancel his party, I manage to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stained my keyboard with cherry juice :o Did y’all know Washington state produces most of the sweet cherries for the entire US? Most of which are grown in the region where I live. Fun fruit fact brought to you by Fox hahha ANYWAY, now we’re seeing more layers to O and SG and their growth as friends. The next chapter will finally be the party! See you then, and thanks for reading :D


	14. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party time! A couple special guests will make appearances, so it’ll be interesting hahha Fair warning: don’t get too cozy at the party. I mean, you can, but there may be a party crasher. ..just saying. Also, long chapter!

Any minute now, Seung Gil will arrive at my door, dressed in his royal blue suit with peak lapels; I was asked to approve of his choice before he got ready and was impressed with how the suit fit him, even through our phone cameras. I have yet to put on my own jacket, but my makeup is a higher priority at the moment. I sigh when I have to face the fact that my liquid liner is nearing its end, frustrated at my luck. On the other end of my video chat, Yuuri giggles at my pain. “I can’t have one lined eye and one bare!” I groan, but he doesn’t grasp the severity of the situation and smiles on.

“You can start a new trend.” A glare is my only response, to which Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Or grab the one from your travel bag.”

How did I forget I had a backup liner?! I find myself grinning, rushing to find the forgotten cosmetics in my bag in the closet. As Yuuri somehow recalled, it's safely in the front pocket and ready for use. I hold it up triumphantly for my best friend to see, making him laugh again. “Hallelujah!” There’s little time to celebrate; gotta finish up before Seung Gil gets here! “Thank you for reminding me. I’d be lost without you, dearest."

The smile he flashes is just short of smug as he finishes fixing his hair away from his face. “Don't I know it.” Another figure appears beside him, nearly pushing him aside. “Victor, don't shove!” Yuuri scolds.

“Well, we have to leave and you’re still gracing the mirror with your stunning presence.” That’s his nice way of saying Yuuri is hogging the mirror. Victor glances at the phone, promptly returning his gaze to his reflection to straighten his tie. “Phichit, you haven’t left yet?”

“He’s waiting for Seung Gil.” Yuuri informs him, elbowing his husband to the side so he can properly fix Victor’s tie. As if on cue, my doorbell chimes loud enough for both Yuuri and Victor to flinch at the sudden sound. “Is that him?”

“Yes, it has to be!” I grin, unable to hide my excitement.

“Don’t make him wait too long.” Yuuri smirks. “We'll see you at the party, then, okay? Love you, Phichit!”

I nod, scurrying to put my shit away and stand from the dresser. “Yeah, we’ll see you there. Love you both!” My socked feet almost betray me when I rush from my room, squealing and flailing to keep my balance and get to the door. “Shit.” I mutter before composing myself. When I open the door, my jaw drops at the man on my welcome mat. Now, as mentioned, I approved of this outfit over the phone so I’ve seen it on Seung Gil before, but damn: my boyfriend could stop traffic. His suit looks like it was made just for him, though I know he doesn’t have a tailor; the jacket cuts right at his waist, pants hugging his hips in all the right places. The color brings out the cool greys of his eyes, flattering the brown hues just as nicely. Has there ever been a more tantalizing cologne than the one he owns? Stuff should be illegal. If we didn’t already have plans, I might just pull him by his tie to my room and stay in for the night. He blinks at me before giving a little wave. As his face starts to turn pink, I realize I’m staring and haven’t invited him in. “Hi.” Excellent conversational skills, right? I shake my head and step aside, vowing to stop ogling Seung Gil before we’ve even left. “Sorry, come in. I just have to finish getting dressed and we can leave.” With a nod, he follows me and shuts the door. “Glad it isn’t as cold as it was earlier this week.” Good thing I left my shoes nearby; I slip them on and check my reflection again, sweeping my hair to the side; not off my forehead, but away from one eye. Over my shoulder, Seung Gil is looking forward but his eyes aren’t focused on anything in particular. His bottom lip looks abused, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He is a man of few words, but not a man of none: something’s up. My smile fades at his far-off expression; if I could loan him some of my enthusiasm, I would. Turning, I card my fingers through his hair, running them against his scalp. Seung Gil shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. With a bit of styling cream, I coax the dark strands into a relaxed style, just enough to reveal more of his face than he normally shows. I want to know that he's okay and that he really is up for the party, but somehow I don’t think asking him straight out will be helpful. Slowly, I hold his face in my hands, stepping close enough to block his view entirely. “Whenever you’re ready.”

His eyes ease open, one hand gripping my wrist with the lightest of touches. His other hand rests on my shoulder, pressing down. “Thank you.” I was expecting Seung Gil's voice to sound tired, or raspy; instead, it simply sounds small. He kisses me softly, lingering near my lips with a steadying breath. “If things get overwhelming, I’ll tell you.” He pulls away to look me in the eye.

I nod in agreement. “And you can let me know if you need air or if you want to leave, and we can come back home if need be.”

Seung Gil nods, trying to smile. “Right. We’ve got this.”

In silence, I finish dressing and lead the way out of my apartment. Even though both our cars are in the lot, we agree to take mine: I’m familiar with the venue and want my boyfriend to be comfortable during the drive over. The least stressed he is going into the party, the better. I hold his hand about halfway through, squeezing for comfort; I don’t overlook how hard he squeezes back. A pang of guilt hits me when we have to let our hands go to step out of the car; it’s silly, I know, but I want to support Seung Gil as much as I can. When I get to his side of the car, our hands reconnect and I make a silent vow to not let him go again until the night is over or he gives me permission. He nods after taking a couple deep breaths, gesturing with an arm for me to lead the way again. “First we’ll scope the place out. Then I’ll introduce you to Yuuri and Victor. Don’t feel pressured to act a certain way, or talk more than you want to. Be you, okay?”

“Okay.”

The slush below our feet slows our progress; we’re not wearing boots or anything, and I know I don’t want to ruin my shoes. Seung Gil somehow seems to have more solid footing than I do, helping me take slow steps to avoid slipping while carrying both of our neatly wrapped boxes in a gift bag. The tip of my nose quickly turns to ice while we cross the parking lot; I don’t mention it, trudging forward in silence. It’s not that I’m afraid to say the wrong thing, but that I don’t want to break this focus he seems to have. Yesterday, I gave him a chance to back out one last time and was met with a stubborn insistence that he wanted to go and that’s final.

Once inside, warm air rushes against my face without warning. My coat is suddenly stifling, but luckily there’s a man checking coats near the door, all too happy to take our outerwear. “Is it too warm for you?” I ask, looping my arm through Seung Gil’s. He shakes his head no, taking the smallest of steps closer to me. Not that I don’t believe him, but I want to make sure everything is all good, especially with so many things going on in here. For whatever reason, I wasn’t expecting so many people: small groups dot the large room, mostly clustered in front of a long table piled with refreshments, chattering and laughing over mellow music. Some bodies move about, weaving through tables and staff to get to the food and drinks. The lighting bounces off every piece of jewelry, every piece of tableware and crystal flute. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to spot Yuuri and Victor laughing over champagne; their smiles are easy, like they’ve been here a while. Hopefully this will put Seung Gil at ease. I tug on his arm, taking the gift bag with me. “Ready to meet Yuuri?”

With a nod, he replies: “Okay.”

“Phichit, you’re here!” Yuuri waves just before we’ve reached them. I pat Seung Gil’s arm and he releases me, embracing Yuuri with happiness that bubbles out in a laugh.

“The one and only.” I take a step back after hugging Victor, too, noticing both of them staring over my shoulder. Seung Gil is standing there, eyes not quite at our feet but not making contact with anyone else’s eyes, either. I pat his arm, testing a smile out. “Guys, this is Seung Gil Lee. Seung Gil, this is Yuuri and Victor.”

Yuuri opens his arms, stepping forward. This makes Seung Gil immediately step backward…I think he just walked away from a hug; I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone do that before. A light sting hits me on Yuuri's behalf, but a twist of discomfort settles in for Seung Gil's sake. Yuuri’s arms return to his sides, smile morphing into a confused frown. Seung Gil is now a bit red in the face, chewing on his bottom lip. Before I can grab for his hand, he reaches out. “Um, sorry. I…” He mutters, offering a handshake. Yuuri accepts, shaking his hand with something like a smile.

“It's, um…well, it's nice to finally meet you in person!” Yuuri manages to respond. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Why is Seung Gil looking at him like that, like he’s speaking another language? He points at my best friend, brows drawn in confusion. “Your voice.” Yeah, that’s not really making his behavior any clearer. Yuuri raises his brows, lost as much as Victor and me. Trying to shake off the redness in his face, Seung Gil waves his hands as if to erase something. “I mean I recognize your voice. I think I’d know it anywhere.”

A knowing smile flashes on Yuuri's face, chased by a light flush. “Ah, you mean from the radio.”

Victor's face lights up, too, draping an arm over his husband's shoulders. “You’re an Eros fan! You have excellent taste.”

Again, Seung Gil points a finger, this time at Victor. “And you’re Victor Nikiforov, legendary sax player, right?” He takes the offered handshake, then the champagne flute, from Victor who’s wearing a smug smile. The last thing Victor needs is an ego boost, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt him to meet a fan familiar with his work.

“That’s right, but outside of work, I’m Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki.” Naturally, he flashes the gold band on his ring finger to emphasize this fact. Any trace of uncertainty is gone from Victor’s face, but a hint remains in Yuuri's eyes; it’ll take more effort to gain his favor.

I take the flute Victor offers me, drawing Seung Gil in with the other arm. “He’ll remind you of that every chance he gets.” I warn him, loud enough for the others to hear. The timid smile I earn from my boyfriend melts away some worry: things are going well, considering that awkward avoidance right out of the gate, but even small steps are a win in my opinion.

“So how are you, Seung Gil? Phichit says you’re busier lately with work.” Yuuri mentions.

“What is it you do again?” Victor asks.

He silently clears his throat before answering. “I’m an accountant. I’ve a new project that involves some research into consumer habits. It's easier with Otabek helping out where he can.”

Surprise washes over Victor. “Oh, you work together?”

“Yeah, his desk is across from mine.” Seung Gil nods.

“Speaking of, have you two seen the couple of the evening yet? We have a gift for them.” Every time I scan the crowd for Yuri or Otabek, I come up empty. Yuuri smirks, warm eyes gleaming without his glasses.

“Late, as usual.”

“To their own party, of course.” Victor laughs. “I heard from Mila they’re on their way.”

Seung Gil opens his mouth, as if to speak, but a loud greeting interrupts, followed by a grinning Minami. He isn’t wearing a jacket, leaving his suspenders exposed. “You all are here!” He doesn’t seem to notice Seung Gil, turning instead to Yuuri. “You look so different with your hair back. It’s a good look.” He nods with a short laugh.

Before Yuuri can even reply, Victor brushes his fingers through my best friend’s black hair, taming the strands just a bit. “There we go: perfection.”

Yuuri blushes under his attention; perhaps now is a good time to find more people to introduce Seung Gil to. I tug his sleeve, leaving the gift bag to hang at my elbow. “Hey, Minami: can you help us find Mila? I want to ask her something.”

Renewed enthusiasm brightens Minami’s smile. “Yeah, she’s over by the DJ. I can take you.”

I nod, waving at Yuuri and Victor who have entered their own world of whispers and giggles behind champagne again. “We’ll see you two in a bit! Gonna find Mila.” I explain. They bid us a temporary farewell, noting how nice it is to have a face to Seung Gil's name. I gesture at our newly acquired guide. “Seung Gil, this is Minami. Minami, this is Seung Gil.”

Minami walks backwards for a moment to shake his hand with both of his, eyes sparkling. “Hi! Good to meet you, finally. Phichit says such nice things about you.”

An easy smile rests on Seung Gil's face; this is going really well! He hasn’t seemed tortured so far, and smiles are sure signs he’s doing alright. “That’s a relief.” This makes Minami laugh as he turns around, somehow avoiding running into anyone. “I’ve heard of you, too: the newest member of the radio family?”

“That’s me! After hearing Eros in my college days, I just knew I wanted to have my own show, too.” Minami plays with his suspenders, not knowing what to do with his hands with such a slow beat playing softly. “Well, not that you can compare our shows. Not only is Yuuri more talented and experienced than I am, we play way different types of music and our personalities are totally different, and stuff. But our shows are important to us, and I think that’s one of the reasons why Yuuri is so good at it: he works hard because he wants to.” He could wax poetic indefinitely, but a glimpse of bright red hair nearby keeps his ramblings to a minimum; I commend Seung Gil for hanging in there, and not egging on this Eros rant. The DJ is settled at a small table, laptop in front of him and Mila beside him. I think he’s one of Otabek's friends, but I could be mistaken. He’s trying to ignore Mila, or brush her off, but she’s practically sitting on his table, gesturing at the songs in his playlist. “Mila, you’re off the clock.” Minami giggles.

Mila rolls her eyes, pointing at the screen. “I know, but he could get a better flow if he listened to me. I do know what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t pester the man.” I roll my eyes, too, and turn to the DJ. “Sorry for her lack of tact. She thinks because she has a radio show, she's good at being a DJ.” Her jaw drops, but even the DJ laughs with Minami and Seung Gil. If my boyfriend can laugh, he's doing much better than expected! Mila retreats from the table so she can get in my face.

“Listen, you.” She laughs. “You don’t even have music on your show.”

I laugh, pulling Seung Gil closer to me. “Mhmm. Seung Gil, this is Mila.” She smiles, sly glimmer in her bright blue eyes. “Mila, my boyfriend Seung Gil.”

“So you’re the famous Seung Gil Lee we’ve been hearing about.” Mila winks my way. “Glad to see you’re not a phantom: you were starting to sound too good to be true.” Of course she wouldn’t hesitate to say something like that. I mean, I don’t mind but I can’t tell if it's making my boyfriend uneasy. He’s sort of smiling, sort of blushing.

“So you do talk about me often.”

For some reason, this makes Mila and Minami laugh. “When he likes the topic, Phichit can fill a novel with his words.” Minami adds, just in case it wasn’t clear that I like to talk.

When I turn to Seung Gil, his eyes take my breath away: beautiful, honest care resides in those eyes. I want to say that look is one of adoration, but I don’t want to put words in his mouth. Instead, I squeeze his hand before kissing the back of it. “This is true.” On this rare occasion, I don’t have much else to say. “Mila, do you know when Yuri will be here? We have a gift.”

“Soon enough, I'm sure.” She turns her attention to Seung Gil. “Phichit says you’re an avid listener. Do you always stay up to listen to his show?”

Seung Gil licks his lips after sipping at his champagne, nursing it like there aren’t a dozen other bottles nearby. “Most nights.”

“That’s late for weeknights!” Minami mentions. “Don’t you get tired?”

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I keep my eyes on him; maybe the others will get the hint to let him take his time finding the right words. I know his insomnia is hard to explain to others since they simply can’t wrap their minds around the concept, so I let him be. “Well, I don’t need a lot of sleep and have insomnia on top of that, so…not really. Our schedules actually mesh pretty well.”

“That’s a first.” Mila nods in appreciation. Her attention is quickly stolen, however, by a slender brunette walking over with a glass in each hand. The woman is striking, red lips and black hair fixed to frame her violet eyes. When she hands Mila one of the glasses with a sweet smile, it clicks: this is the girlfriend I have yet to meet! I’ve seen photos of her, but don’t recall having ever seen her in person. “Thank you, lovely.”

“Sara?”

Wait, was that Seung Gil's voice? How does he know this woman and I don’t? The others look about as confused as I feel until Sara’s smile returns. “Seung Gil, hi!” She steps in, arms outstretched for a hug, and actually gets one! Okay, maybe it’s brief and very light, but she’s somehow earned his trust enough for a hug when Yuuri didn’t even get that privilege. I’m beyond lost, so I finish off my drink and watch this play out. “I had no idea you'd be here.”

“You two know each other?” Mila asks, pointing back and forth between them.

Sara nods, standing next to the redhead once again. “Yeah, we work together! Remember how I was talking about the new consumer project with surveys and stuff?” Mila nods for her to continue. “He's the one who thought of it.”

“I didn’t think up the whole project.” Seung Gil insists.

“But it was your idea to begin with.” Sara smirks. “So modest.”

I knew one of the ladies from the office had a hand in this project, but I never would’ve guessed she’s the girlfriend of my friend: small world, that’s for sure. “Well, guys, this is Sara: my girlfriend.” Mila introduces her with a growing smile. “We’ve been friends for years, so I’m sure you’ve heard me talk about her.” She points to me, then Minami. “Phichit and Minami, coworkers by day, family by night.” I wave at Sara, grateful for her presence; a familiar, friendly face is good for Seung Gil. They even chat a moment, until Sara decides to get to know Minami with Mila's two cents interjected here and there.

While the three talk a bit, I rest my chin on the royal blue shoulder by my side, the owner blinking back. “What?” Seung Gil asks softly.

I smile in return, unsure how to phrase my thoughts. How does one say they don't wanna jinx it, but they’re proud of someone and want them to feel good about progress made? “I hope you’re having a good time so far.” I decide to say. He nods, little smile just for me.

“I’m still alive.” He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you for staying with me.”

As if I had any other plans. I stand upright, looking him directly in the eye. “There’s no way I wouldn’t support you.” For emphasis, I take him by the hand again; the trembling is gone. “Is there any way I can make the night a ten?”

“Take me to the food.”

A small space surrounding the table is clear, used for shuffling around the refreshments with cloth napkins and tiny serving utensils. Seung Gil and I taste and try different things, abandoning our champagne along the way to keep our hands free. After every bite, we exchange either criticisms or praise in hushed voices, only heard by our ears; even in the din of indecipherable conversations, every word he says is clear. I laugh when he eats too much and he teases me when I drop a fork. I almost forget that there are other people around, lost in our own little world, a place filled with shy smiles and soft laughter over finger foods. Mingling with others is good fun, but being with just Seung Gil is another experience altogether.

Suddenly, the music comes to a halt. Focus shifts over to the DJ, microphone in hand. “Now arriving: your guests of honor.” He announces their names along with the occasion we're celebrating, but I don’t see them yet. Seung Gil picks up on this, my frantic searching probably a giveaway, and gestures towards the front door. Duh, right? Where else would they come through? Yuri is dressed in black and more black; his tie, however, is an impossibly metallic gold. In contrast, Otabek is in mostly white with a dark green vest and tie. Neither of them holds back a smile but I have to point out that their eyes are pretty much locked on to each other and nothing else. That is, until a pop from up above proceeds a shower of gold, silver and bronze confetti.

“No way!” I laugh, whipping out my phone to capture as much of the action as possible. My quick reflexes allow me to get footage of the couple sharing a quick kiss under the foil rain; what a great angle, too! “Perfect.” I mutter before pocketing my phone. “Nobody else will have that on video.” If only I’d known, I could’ve gotten the entire entrance on film.

Seung Gil shakes his head, smirking. “Only you, P.”

The couple is instantly swarmed by their guests, stopping only to briefly say hello and give their thanks; they seem to have a destination in mind, and if Yuri’s sharp green gaze is anything to go by, it’s the snack table. “Move, shithead.” Yuri grumbles under his breath as he shoves me out of the way, ignoring the rest of the table he could’ve gone to. Before I can even scoff, he smirks over his shoulder, helping himself to an entire plate. “Thanks for coming.”

I roll my eyes, pulling their gift bag away. “I was going to give you something, but I’ve changed my mind.” I turn, looking for Otabek. “I’ll just hand it over to…” Yuri's other half is stopped nearby, laughing with a guest. I blink, realizing something major: that guest is Seung Gil! Like nothing, he's just casually carrying on a conversation with Otabek, both laughing. How often does Otabek even laugh? Seung Gil mentioned that they’re friends, but it still makes me smile to see him look so relaxed around someone other than Sara and me. Yuri nudges me, still chomping on the bite-sized food straight from a tray. I scoff: “I see your manners still need work.”

He rolls his eyes, hitting me again. “It's my party. Why are you staring like a creep?”

“I am not.”

“You are. Who’s that guy, anyway?”

I toss Yuri a napkin. “Such a pig. That’s Seung Gil Lee, my boyfriend. I’ll introduce you in a minute, when they’re done talking.”

“Oh, that’s him?” He rudely points. “I’ve heard about him. They’ll never stop talking.”

“What?” I laugh. “When did I ever tell you anything like that?”

Again, he rolls his eyes. “Not from you, genius. Otabek talks about him.” He exchanges the serving plate for another, like it's just for him, and nods their direction. “Come on: introduce me. I wanna see what the present is.”

I smile, pulling the bag away but walking over with him. “Easy, tiger. You’ll get your gift.” When we reach the two, Otabek waves and takes the plate from his husband. I laugh, even though nobody else does. “I tried to stop him, but he’s too crafty for me.”

“No you didn’t.” Yuri scowls. “And besides, I’m fucking starving, waiting around to leave the house for what I’m sure was forever.”

“I told you my family would call.” Otabek may be wearing a poker face, but the twinkle in his dark eyes and softness of his expression has love written all over that mask. “Good to see you, Phichit.” He acknowledges me. I trade him the plate for the gift bag. “What’s this?”

I loop my arm through Seung Gil's, giving a little tug. “Just a couple gifts from us to congratulate you both!”

Yuri pinches my arm, ignoring my pained yelp. “You’re supposed to introduce me.”

Ugh, he can be so bossy. I roll my eyes, yet again, at the blonde. “This is Seung Gil. Babe, this is Yuri. He’s violent.” This time, Yuri's the only one not laughing. He shoots Otabek this look of betrayal, which is acknowledged by a shrug. “Otabek, you already know Seung Gil.” He nods, opening the gift bag on a nearby table, decorated and set up with a guestbook. “A little something to remember the special date.”

At first glance, the champagne bottle looks like any ordinary bottle of bubbly. On closer inspection, which Otabek makes on his own, the bottle is actually from their wedding year. Oh, and the specific date also happens to be etched on both of the champagne flutes in the accompanying wrapped box. Well, it’s not wrapped anymore: Yuri made sure of that. Both men are silent for a moment. Like, maybe it was the absolute wrong thing to get them? I look to Seung Gil, wondering if maybe he’s gleaned any information from this. He simply shrugs, biting at his lip in anticipation. Our questions are answered by a simple nod from Otabek, and two words from Yuri, trying to hide his pink face behind his hair: “Thank you.”

Mila and Victor eventually pull Yuri from the refreshments, parading him around to greet other guests. It surprised me at first when I learned that Yuri had actually grown up with Victor, playing piano for him during some performances. It didn’t take Yuri very long to decide he hated being treated like some kind of windup toy, playing for a crowd he held no fondness for. Even now, his tense shoulders and slow walk are obvious signs he’d rather be elsewhere. Otabek tells Sara and Seung Gil about the call from his family and why it lasted longer than it should have. I feel like I worried over this party for nothing: Seung Gil has had several conversations with all of my friends, and looks at home with these two, eyes light and small smile present. I think maybe now’s the perfect time to take a restroom break. “Will you be alright if I head to the bathroom for a minute? I won’t be long, but I’m taking Yuuri with me.” I gesture over my shoulder at both my best friend and the men’s room. Seung Gil blinks, taking a second to think before grabbing one of my hands.

“I think I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking on me.” That sweet smile kills me! “But I don’t know that I want to stay too much longer. I’m getting pretty tired.”

I nod, patting his hand. “Okay, we can talk about that when I get back.”

The mirror in the bathroom isn’t all that flattering, but that doesn’t stop Yuuri and me from taking up residence in front of it. “Should’ve checked on my hair before taking all those pictures.” Yuuri mumbles, brushing his bangs back again.

“I mean, it’s not like it looks bad. You always look cute.”

“My contacts are getting itchy.” He sticks his tongue out at his reflection. “Is it too soon to head home, do you think?”

Shaking my head, I wave him off. “Nah. Seung Gil was talking about dipping, too.” Ahh, he hasn’t said anything about meeting my boyfriend yet! We’ve been around him the whole time, we didn’t even get the chance to talk about what happened. I grin, suddenly reinvigorated. “Speaking of…what do think of him?”

“Hm?” Yuuri turns to me, fixing the knot in his tie.

“What do you think of Seung Gil?”

He laughs, turning back to his reflection. “Oh, sorry. You’re right: he is quiet. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, though. He’s observant, like you, but in a different way.” Yuuri leans on the sink, done with looking at himself for the time being. “And I think he’s kind of funny, which is good for you. You get bored when people can’t make you laugh.” This is a very strong point; if my man can’t make me laugh, what the hell are we supposed to do with our lives? “He seems very real, too, like he doesn’t pretend to be any kind of way.” With a nod, he smiles. “Yeah, I think I like him.” That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! I shout with excitement, pulling Yuuri into a hug that doesn’t let him breathe. “Phichit, don’t strangle me!” He laughs, trying to get an inch of space. “He seems good for you, so I approve. Remember to stick to who you are, so you don’t lose any of yourself.”

It’s a fair warning, so I nod and let him breathe again. “Done and done. I’m so glad you like him!” I cheer again, relieved that nobody showed any outward signs of disliking my boyfriend. Not that it would make me dump him, or anything, but I like the people I’m closest to getting along with each other; I’d be sad if that didn’t work out. Arm in arm, we head back out to the party. We don’t get very far before a hand grips my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

“Phichit!” That voice turns my blood to ice, so familiar yet so distant. I turn, squeezing Yuuri’s arm, and let my eyes fall on Christophe: my ex. “Where have you been hiding?” Chris laughs, throwing an arm around me in some type of hug. “And Yuuri, of course. How are you?”

Yuuri’s words escape him only for a moment, smiling softly. “Hey, Chris. I’m doing well. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I wanted to surprise Victor.” Chris rolls his eyes, taking a step back. “But my agent called, and I can’t stay for long.” Chris and Victor have been good friends for years. I want to say they’re best friends, but Victor seldom uses the term himself, so I’ll refrain. He sends his green eyes back my way, squeezing my shoulder. “Phichit, you haven’t said a word! Aren’t you having a good time?”

Things with Chris didn’t end as suddenly as he thinks they did. Maybe officially, but I’d been unhappy before we broke up, even if I didn’t say as much. A big part of me wants to be angry and wants to hate him, but it just wouldn’t be right: he didn’t really do anything wrong. I can’t force a smile, but I can at least be cordial. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here.” I shrug. “I was thinking about calling it a night soon, but it’s been a great evening. How are you?” Not too curt, not too friendly.

“Been terribly busy, sweetheart. Work is good, but keeping me on my toes.” Chris’ smile is bright, probably enough to blind someone. “It’s been too long!”

Why is his hand still on my shoulder? It’s too warm, too persistent. I want Seung Gil, but I don’t even see him in the crowd. Yuuri grabs my hand, holding tight. “Not that long, right? We saw you after New Year’s, but you had to leave right away.” He responds so I won’t have to, a true best friend. “You’re always so busy.”

Chris sighs, smile finally fading. “I know, I know.” His hand slides down to my back, resting at my waist. “But I’m here now. And you look wonderful, by the way.” This comment is directed at me, but I’m not sure what to do with it. He’s always been one for flattery, and it used to be something I welcomed. We don’t have that kind of relationship now, though, and his words have me at a loss. I can feel my face reddening under his gaze.

“Um, thank you.” As his hand travels further down, I flinch and back away. “Chris, I’m here with someone.” Wherever he is, anyway. He glances around, looking genuinely shocked.

“I don’t see anyone! Why isn’t he here with you, instead of Yuuri?”

“He’s with some friends, but we were just about to go find him.” Yuuri nods. “Did you catch up with Victor? He should be around with Yuri, I think.” He starts to pull me with him, away from Chris, but he follows us. “Keeping him on his best behavior.” Yuuri chuckles.

Chris laughs, keeping our pace. “I’m sure. We talked for only a moment, but then I ran into you two.” Again, he snakes his arm around my waist.

It’s too much; I stop, turning to Chris with what I hope is a frown. “Okay, enough.” He blinks, shocked at my reaction, but no words come out. I hold a hand out, keeping him at a distance. “You know we’re not what we used to be, and you know I’m here with someone else.”

“If he had any sense, he’d never let you out of his sight.”

“Chris, come on.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead. Talking with him can be tiring. Yuuri taps my arm, eyes on a group coming towards us. At the front of the group is Seung Gil, frowning with confusion blurring his earlier excitement. I pat Yuuri’s arm so he can let go; he releases me after giving my hand a firm squeeze. “There you are.” I reach for Seung Gil, taking him by his arm like it’s a lifesaver in the open sea. He doesn’t say anything, staring over my shoulder, instead. “Babe?”

“Wait, that’s your boyfriend?” Chris practically gasps.

What the hell kind of reaction is that? “Yes, this is Seung Gil: my boyfriend.”

“I see.” Chris nods with a smile, hands to himself. “Quite a surprise.”

“What do you mean by that?”

An awkward laugh leaves Chris’ mouth as he waves his hands dismissively. “I didn’t mean anything by it! Just…not what I expected. I know you, so I’m simply surprised, that’s all.” The moment the words are out there, all the life drains from Seung Gil’s eyes. My stomach sinks, snapping my heart in two; his pain is my pain. The chatter around us has dulled to a chorus of whispers, focus uncomfortably settled over our discussion. If now isn’t the perfect time to make our exit, I don’t know what is. I shake my head, dragging Seung Gil behind me.

“Have a good evening, Chris.” I mutter. When I reach Otabek and Yuri, both looking like they’re ready to attack, I give them an attempted smile. “Congratulations, and thank you for having us. We had a wonderful time.” We exchange hugs.

“You don’t have to leave, you know.” Yuri comments while his husband hugs Seung Gil, walking him to the door and telling him something I can’t hear.

I nod, smiling for real this time. “I know, and thank you, but we really were heading out. It’s getting late.” That, and I feel like puking after seeing my ex break my boyfriend’s spirit. I say a few more goodbyes, desperate to get out of the party. Otabek stops me at the door. “Thanks for everything. It was—”

“You should take him home.” He sighs.

I agree, rushing out into the cold without my coat. “Seung Gil?” I don’t know where he is; he could be at the car by now, but it’s so dark and Otabek didn’t tell me anything of use. I tug at my hair, frustrated at not knowing where my boyfriend is or if he’s alright. As soon as I find him, I have to apologize for how the night turned out. The guilt isn’t sitting well in my gut. “Come on.” I groan, making my way around the building. A seated figure catches my eye, hidden under a pile of jackets in a dark bundle. “Seung Gil Lee, what’re you doing?” I help him into his jacket. The way he lets me move his arms, pliant and unresisting, makes me worry. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am.” Putting on my own coat gives me something to do, something to focus on while my mouth runs. “I didn’t know he’d be here, and I never wanted to put you through that. I’m sorry he had to be there, and for what he said. The night was going so well, and I wish it’d been different. He ruffles feathers, but I’m fine. Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Seung Gil lifts his head. “Can we go, please?”

Silence follows us to the car, a cold wind at our backs. The ride back to my apartment is wordless while the heater does its best to thaw us. At my place, when we change and wander to my room, that silence is still with us. What is there to say? Even under the covers, this stifling quiet weighs on us until I can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, Seung Gil. I shouldn’t have made you go tonight.” I’d take it all back if it meant never having to see that look on his face. In the dark, I can’t see his expression, but I can hear him sigh and feel his hand cover mine.

“I’m not mad at you. You didn’t make me do anything. I had fun.” He says that, but does he mean it? “People have looked at me that way before, friends of exes included. What business do I have with someone like you? What the hell am I doing in a place like that?” Another sigh. “How did I manage to find a relationship like this? I get it.”

Oh, hell no. No, he shouldn’t get anything like that; it’s bullshit! “No, that’s not true. None of that is accurate, okay?”

“I get it because I know how things look. You’re artwork, and I’m some sketch, but they don’t…they don’t know me. People like to judge, and I hate it. I fucking hate it, P, but they do it and I have to deal with it. They don’t know a thing about me. Your ex doesn’t know shit about me, or how I make you feel. He lost out, and that’s his problem.” His voice sounds strange, almost raspy, and tired. “I’m not mad. I had a good time. But now I’m just tired.” He sighs. “I’m grateful to have met your friends, to know you, to have a job and not be broke. I’m grateful you care about me, and want to help make my life better.” The first time I heard him say what he’s grateful for at night and list what he can change in the morning, I nearly got choked up: he sincerely took my advice to heart, even before we really knew each other.

On an exhale, I try on a weak smile. In spite of the way Chris looked at him, and how uncomfortable the whole thing made us, Seung Gil is okay. I kiss his hand, trying not to blurt out how amazing and strong he is; he needs rest. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Tomorrow.”

I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow, but hopefully it’ll be a better experience than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if that got too angsty. I swear, I have nothing against Chris, BTW; he's not a bad guy in this, though he may seem like it. It's all about perspective, yo. The next chapter is sweeter, so look out for it~


	15. Pillow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, but mostly some recovery and plans for the future. It's not as heavy as it seems, so no worries :3

Hardly more than a flurry whips at the windows, carried by a fierce wind as a reminder that winter is still hanging around. At once, it seems both soft and lonely; maybe it’s the paleness of the morning light, and the lack of plants blooming and flourishing, no people around or making a sound. Maybe I still feel a little guilty for what happened last night. If I’m being honest, I feel a lot guilty for that, even though I’ve been told I have nothing to feel sorry about. Seung Gil can be so stubborn, but it's not like I can argue with him while he’s asleep in the other room. A quiet sigh escapes my lungs while the timer on my phone tells me the tea is ready. I take the two mugs to my bedroom, careful not to bump into anything or make unnecessary noise in the process. My eyes take a moment to adjust in the darkness: a curled form is still under the covers, curtains shutting out the sun and lamps still off. I set the mugs on my nightstand and crawl back under all the blankets. Not a second passes before Seung Gil wraps his limbs around me, pulling me further down to be his personal heater. I stay seated up a bit, resting my hands at his back. His shirt is soft under my fingers, though thin for it being so cold out. “Awake?” I whisper. He groans in response, answering my question. “I brought you some tea. You can drink it and sleep more after, if you want.” This seems reasonable to him: he nods against my chest and sits up beside me. The lamp is turned on now, at its lowest setting, while we sip from the mugs. Seung Gil's sleeves are pulled over his hands, only his fingertips peeking out. “Are you cold?” I don’t get a verbal response, but another nod. “Come here, then.” I wrap the top blanket around us, pulling the other covers up our legs; sitting closer together adds warmth, I think. “Better?” My head on his shoulder can feel when he nods again. “I know what you said, but I still feel like this is somehow my fault.”

“Hmm?” Seung Gil tenses, but otherwise doesn’t move. I sigh, knowing I have explaining to do.

“I invited you to the party, and I wanted you to go. I wanted to help you, but I should’ve known Chris would be there.” Looking back, I’m not sure how I didn’t see that coming. Then again, he's constantly booked so maybe that wasn’t such an oversight. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything right now, but just know that I feel bad about the whole thing.”

Against my reassurance, he clears his throat. “Don’t be sorry.” Seung Gil's voice has never sounded like this: hoarse, broken, raw.

“Please don’t hurt yourself!” I cringe, not wanting things to get worse.

“Okay.” He rests his head on mine with a sigh. “He misses you.”

I wish he would try to preserve his voice; it sounds painful. “Babe, rest your voice. Or at least have some tea before saying anything else.” Ah, but he’s left the ball in my court, hasn’t he? On a slow exhale, I shut my eyes. “You mean Chris?”

“Mhmm.”

Well, this is unpleasant. Maybe it’s time he heard about what went down. “When we were dating, we had fun together and great chemistry, but then, when his career really took off, I started to question why I was making sacrifices and he wasn’t. I didn’t like the extent he was flirting with other people, the texts that never came even when selfies were posted, the permission to have sex with other people when we weren't in the same city, the way it mostly became long-distance with few visits. It really sucked.” An understatement, but whatever. “But I agreed to it all because I wanted him to be happy. I mean, it’s not his fault he views the world differently from me, so I just…I pretended like it was fine until I couldn’t. I was tired of being unhappy and neglected, and it may not be cheating in his book, but damn it, it was to me.” He's the type of person who can have meaningless sex one afternoon and still be invested in another relationship that same night. “In reality, he didn’t do anything I asked him not to, but I should've drawn a line. I didn’t, though, and I got so hurt that I had to break things off.” I deserve to be happy; being with Chris was never going to make me happy. We're too different and there’s nothing wrong with that. I understand that now. “He may have some feelings, or something, but I never expected he’d act that way, like me being with someone else was so shocking.” It's been years since I’ve been with him, and I don’t harbor any romantic feelings towards him, so what’s the big deal? “Just know that I don’t care what people think when they see us together, okay? I like you, a lot, and that’s what matters.”

“I had a conversation with Otabek.” Seung Gil slurps his tea, improving his voice quality just a fraction. “He said people will always judge, but that’s their problem. He’s right, and you’re right in that it doesn't matter, but…it's hard.”

I give him a moment to drink more, draping an arm over his shoulders. “I get it.”

He shakes his head, slowly. “You don’t.” Oh? “That sounded rude, but there’s no way you could understand. People don’t see me. They glance, then decide I might as well be invisible. Nothing to see here, just a ghost.” He's said something similar in the past, but only now am I really understanding. “You walk in a room, and all eyes are on you. Not just you, but your energy and they gravitate to that. They see you, and who you are. They don't see me like that.” Seung Gil can't reach the nightstand, so I set his mug down for him. “Thanks. I don’t like being judged and stared at, or forced to talk a lot, but I’m still a person. I don’t always want to be invisible.” Is…is that the start of a smile on his face? Could the dim lighting be tricking me? “Last night wasn't all bad. I did have fun, even if it exhausted me, so please stop apologizing for it.”

“You…” I don’t have a way to finish that sentence. He said the same thing before he fell asleep, but it's not easy to wrap my brain around. “You still had fun, after all that?”

Seung Gil curls up in my lap, taking the entire blanket with him. “Yeah. It was more irritating to be instantly scrutinized than running into your ex. I got to meet nice people, though, and I like that I learned a lot.”

Such a nerd; he makes me smile. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“My number one fan.” He yawns, settling into a comfortable position. I laugh, running my fingers through his hair without thought. Seung Gil has been sleeping on and off for hours, but still seems wiped out. I’m up earlier than usual, and find myself growing sleepy, too. A bit more rest couldn’t hurt, I suppose. “Sleep, too.” His muffled words are barely above a whisper, but do they ever resonate.

“Just for a little while.” I yawn, moving him and adjusting the blanket so we can both lie down under all the covers, side by side. “So you’re not mad at me?” I ask. Seung Gil shakes his head against my shoulder: no. “And you don’t hate hanging out with my friends?” Another no. “You did such a good job, being you and being around so many strangers. I really am proud of you.” To emphasize this point, I kiss his forehead. “Sleep well, okay?” Seung Gil doesn’t respond, lost in his dream already. I’ve never met someone so willing to better themselves. Even though I don’t think change is absolutely necessary in him, I admire that he sees room for improvement and is really trying to work on himself. He’s the last thing I think about before I join him in slumber.

When I open my eyes again, more than an hour has passed. Several messages and missed calls let me know that it’s probably time to get up. Yuuri left two texts: ‘In case you forgot, I’ll be working today in the afternoon. I’ll be around after five if you need to talk! Hope all is well’ and: ‘Oh, and I’m sending all my love and support to you both’

Mila left me a message, too: ‘Heyyy…I saw what happened and I hope your bf is ok? Sara says so too. Call me later? Xoxox’

Even two from Yuri: ‘Well, last night was weird af. Maybe we can make it up to you guys some other time.’ followed by: ‘Otabek’s idea, but I feel kinda bad. Whatever, text me later if you want.’ Of course he couldn’t let me believe he said something nice on his own.

There’s also a missed call from Minami, and a voicemail from Victor. I don’t want to wake Seung Gil up by talking on the phone, so text Minami instead: ‘Hey! We’re alright, just resting. Thanks for reaching out :) Text you later, k?’ There’s no need to wait for a response; he’s known for leaving messages without replying, even if the receipts show he’s actually read them.

I wonder why Victor left a voicemail. I turn the volume down and listen. “Hi, Phichit. I’m sorry to be calling at such an hour, but Yuuri’s fretting over what happened and I offered to call to check up on you two.” He clears his throat. “As Chris’ friend, I kind of feel responsible for what happened, and…I may have mentioned you’d be there. Had I known he was still holding a torch for you, I wouldn’t have, but I am sorry. Anyway, call me later. I’ll be alone since Yuuri’s working, so I’d welcome the company. Take care, alright?” End of message. So Chris did know I’d be there, and probably looked for me. No wonder he wasn’t around Victor: he wasn’t at the party to see him. With a sigh, I text Victor that I’ll be over later at an undetermined time and set my phone aside, sinking back next to Seung Gil.

There isn’t much light, but I can see his face, pressed against a pillow. He looks so calm, so at peace. He doesn’t deserve to be looked over simply because he isn’t bubbly and outspoken. It isn’t fair. Seung Gil moves in closer, yawning. “Phichit?”

“I’m here.”

His eyes slowly open, directly on mine. “You’re still in bed?”

“Where else would I be?” I scoff. Like I’d just ditch him. Also, it’s my bed; I like hanging out in it, too.

“Would you mind if I stayed in your bed today? Not all of today, but so I can rest?”

Sometimes I legitimately forget he doesn’t live here. I shrug. “You’re welcome here as long as you want. Are you feeling any better?”

He rubs his eyes with a sigh. “Sort of? I have a headache, but that’s probably because I need water.” Another yawn, which he tries to cover. “Positivity time. Today, I can change how exhausted I feel, how annoyed I get with people and how willing I am to be around new friends.” Seung Gil suddenly throws his arms around me, all of his weight taking the air from my lungs. “Good pillow.”

I laugh, realizing I’ve been reduced to part of the bed. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I’m no man’s pillow.”

“Until now.” He presses a lazy kiss to my sternum, nuzzling under my neck. “I know you probably have shit to do, so don’t feel obligated to stay in bed with me.” It’s kind of hard to get out of bed when he’s literally lying on top of me.

“You’ll be alright if I go out for a bit?”

“I think so. I know how to reach you, beautiful.” Seung Gil rolls off of me, hugging the blankets instead. “You don’t mind me staying here, honestly?”

I sit up, shoving the covers his way. “Not at all. You know where everything is.”

“Can I play with your hamsters?”

How adorable is he? “Just make sure you don’t lose them.” I kiss his forehead, lingering close by. “I’m heading out for a little while, then. Should I bring back food, or something, later?”

Seung Gil thinks this over for a minute, nodding. “If it’s not too much trouble. Can I ask where you’re going?”

“Depends on what you want to eat.”

“No, I mean where you’re headed.” He laughs quietly. “Right now.”

Oh, right. “Gotcha. I’m going to have a talk with Victor at his house.” That sounds slightly aggressive. “Yuuri’s at work, and he feels bad about last night, so I wanna see what’s up.” I clarify. Seung Gil nods, shutting his eyes. “Going back to sleep?” He nods again, making me laugh. “Okay, well, have fun. Feel free to text me if you need anything.” I lean over to kiss him, surprised at how he kisses back; he can barely talk or stay awake, but he sure as hell can move his lips. “See you later, babe.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He waves, sleepy smile melting my heart. “See you.”

The front door of the Nikiforov-Katsuki home is pale blue, reminiscent of the winter sky. I went with Yuuri to the hardware store to look at paint samples, and he gravitated towards it from the start. Instead of ringing the bell, I knock and wait a few seconds before opening the door myself. “That you, Phichit?” Victor calls from somewhere, probably the kitchen. A large poodle barrels towards me, greeting me with his tongue hanging out, tail wagging.

“Hi, puppy.” I pet his head, smiling at the unconditional love radiating from him. I know he’s no longer a puppy, but he’ll always be that wiggly newborn I almost took home myself. “Yeah, it’s me!” I reply to Victor, walking further into the house and heading straight for the kitchen. I could find my way around this place with my eyes closed: small table to the left, watch out for the edge that juts out!, where tangled keychains rest; potted plant near the sofa, the dirt often attacked by dog paws for reasons unknown; corner table housing photos of the couple from their wedding day, including one with me as Yuuri’s best man; doorway with a chip on the right side as proof that the dining table cannot fit through, despite Victor’s assurance. “Are you making coffee?” I ask, entering the kitchen. The man is toying with the machine, two mugs already filled and set aside. He’s joined by the poodle, pawing at his hip.

“Down, boy.” Victor sighs, glancing over his shoulder. “I already made some, but it’s making a noise it’s never made before. Yuuri might hate me if it’s broken.”

“Do you want me to check it?” I offer, but he waves me away, holding one of the mugs out.

“No, I’ll deal with it later.” He fixes his cup to his liking, allowing me to do the same; I know where everything in this kitchen is from the sugar in the canister to the noodles in the drawer and the cans on the shelf. “Shall we take a seat?” Victor settles at the dining room table, taking his usual seat on the end. Behind him, the glass door is uncovered. The snow has stopped, but still coats the patio and yard beyond. The tables and chairs back there look like cloaked figures under their waterproof covers. I take the seat next to him, across from where Yuuri typically sits. “How is he?”

I savor the cinnamon I added to my drink, licking my lips in thought. “He’s doing better. Parties drain his energy, and the…encounter only made that worse. When I left, he seemed in a better mood but still sleepy.”

“Yuuri slept in, too.” Victor nods. His husband isn’t the most outgoing person, so he understands the exhaustion of an introvert after social situations. “Did he have a good time, at least?”

It’s almost strange to hear him speak in such a gentle tone. Normally, Victor is full of life and constantly smiling. Right now, he’s wearing a serious look, absently stirring his coffee: he’s concerned. “He did, actually.” I smile. “He liked meeting everyone and being out.”

His expression lightens, blue eyes brightening. “That’s great! I was worried he hated all of us after how quickly you left.”

An easy mistake to make. “No, that’s not why we left.”

“Right. About that.” Victor sighs.

Here comes the good stuff, I’m sure. I sip more coffee. “Do tell.”

“I’d been talking to Christophe about the party. It was nothing about you, but we got to talking about Yura’s friends.” Victor’s one of the few people who call Yuri by that pet name, probably because he was there for the latter’s childhood and became something of a brother figure. Yuri will never admit that, though. “He said something about how he can’t listen to the station anymore when he’s in town because you’re still on it.” He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think anything of it, really, but I said you’d be at the party. You know, since he brought you up and everything. Chris only said he’d see about dropping by, but he didn’t say he’d be there, and he certainly didn’t say he’d try and find you.” Victor’s eyes look a little lost. “When you left him, I didn’t realize he was…well, I guess I didn’t understand how invested he really was in the relationship. We both know how he is, so after all this time, I never thought he’d try something with you. That was foolish of me, right?” He rests his head in one hand. “I’m sorry I mentioned anything about you, and that I didn’t mention that you have a boyfriend.”

I shrug. “It’s not your fault, Victor.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.” He pauses to drain his cup. “Chris wasn’t proud of what happened, either. He didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Right, well…” I scoff. Chris is first and foremost concerned about Chris; that’s simply the truth.

“Seung Gil was so confused. He didn’t even know who Chris was, and I didn’t know what to say.” Victor rubs his eyes. What does he mean he didn’t know what to say? “I thought he knew, but when Yura said his name, he just looked so hurt.”

Pretty sure I missed something. When the hell did Victor talk to Seung Gil about who Chris was? “What’re you talking about?”

He extracts the spoon from his mouth, letting it clink against the walls of the mug. “Hm?”

I roll my eyes. “What do you mean? You talked with Seung Gil about Chris?”

Victor’s jaw drops a bit before he frowns. “Yes? When you were with Yuuri and Chris came up to you. I was with Yura and Otabek, and Seung Gil asked why that man was groping you.” Wow, and this is the first I’m hearing of it? I cover my face with a groan. “It wasn’t a big deal! He asked, and we told him that you knew Chris, that he was an old friend of ours, but Yura said his name. He didn’t seem thrilled to know who he was then.” After a minute, I look back up at him: softness to show he cares. “He wasn’t mad, Phichit. He cares about you, and wants to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

A small smile lights Victor’s face. “Even you need someone looking out for you.” He taps his chin. “I don’t think you realize how brave Seung Gil is.”

“I think I’m starting to.”

My host takes our mugs to the sink. “From what I saw and what Yuuri tells me, he sounds good for you. Do you think this is something you want for a long time?” Victor asks, shooing his dog out of his path. “Not to pry, or anything.”

When he returns to the table, I try to hide my smile; it’s far too wide for such a simple question, but I’d be lying if I denied how much I like Seung Gil. “I’m in real deep, Victor.” This response gets a laugh out of him, full and jovial. I kick at him under the table. “It’s not a joke! It’s true.” I’m chuckling, too, but I’m quite serious. “I’m really falling for him.”

“I believe you.” Victor grins. “You deserve it.”

“I think so.” I tap the edge of the table. “But I just wish things had gone better. I’d hate to think he’s traumatized from the whole situation and will be reluctant to go out again.”

He hums in thought, crossing his legs to the side. “You said he had fun.”

“Yeah.”

“I doubt he’s traumatized.” Victor shrugs. “Maybe next time, just keep things small. Like, one or two friends. Then you can invite him to bigger group things over time.” He makes a good point: Seung Gil always did better on our dates with just the two of us. If he’s willing, we could take baby steps. We could take them together. “I had to do the same with Yuuri when we were first dating. He didn’t like big social functions.”

I’ll definitely talk this over with Seung Gil later, but nod in agreement. “You’re right. He didn’t like going out for a long time.” I recall. “That’s a good strategy, though. Thank you.”

“Thank you for keeping me company.” Victor beams with delight.

We only share a short conversation more before I get going, off to a takeaway shop nearby. I have an idea of what to get Seung Gil, but I text him before ordering to be sure. The snow has picked back up, rudely reminding me that spring hasn’t arrived. Normally the snow has subsided by this time of year; this winter has been relentless. When I look at my phone again, I’d been right about what to order and waste no time telling the cashier what I’d like. While I wait, I scroll through my photo gallery at the images from the party. The lighting was perfection: everyone looks so gorgeous! The ones of Seung Gil and me fill me with butterflies. Not to brag, but we look adorable. So much so that I almost miss my name being called for my food. My bad!

The staircase to my apartment may have been salted, but it’s still slippery in places. Slush has collected at the sides, making the surface entirely wet. I hurry up the steps, careful not to slide and roll my ankle or something, and rush inside to beat the cold. While toeing my boots off at the door, I catch my breath. “Friggin’ freezing.” I mumble.

“You’re back.” Seung Gil’s voice catches me off-guard and I just about drop our food. He laughs at my reaction, sending me the warmest smile to chase the cold away. He has one hamster in his hand, another on his knee; the third is rolling around in one of the plastic balls. Carefully, he tucks the other two in the ball while I hang my coat and bring the food over. My hamsters take off in a snaking path to the other side of the room. Seung Gil hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, standing with his arms outstretched. No more invitation is needed: I set our meal on the table and walk right into his hug. It’s so warm, so cozy. “Did you have fun hanging out with Victor, and stuff?” I hold onto him tighter, getting comfortable in the crook of his neck.

“I did.” I sigh happily, not willing to let him go. “But I’m glad to be here with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the poodle unnamed because I didn’t really think it was relevant; I just wanted Victor and Yuuri to have another dog hahha The next chapter keeps us chugging along, positivity joining us for the rest of the story!


	16. Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re taking a break from Phichit’s POV to follow Seung Gil on his evening after work. Who else will join us? Some friends, of course, now that SG is willing to admit he has some XD

With every tap at the keyboards, click of a mouse, I’m reminded once again that we’re on deadline, racing the passing minutes that seem to be racing us in turn. I’ve been scanning columns of numbers for so long, the figures start to look foreign, like alien symbols with unknown values. Under my breath, I recite each number to ensure I still, in fact, understand what I’m looking at. I’ve already checked and checked and rechecked my math but another go around won’t hurt; I can’t exactly afford to make a mistake. I’m not sure when the last time I blinked was, but the constant movement of my eyes prevents them from feeling dry and itchy. Once everything is looked over, I save the files twice before uploading them to the company’s shared drive. Rubbing my eyes, I wait for the little chime to alert me that the process is completed. It’s awfully quiet in here, urgency occupying everyone’s thoughts; all I can think about is the nonsense in front of my face. Every once in a while, one of my coworkers will sigh or mumble something incomprehensible to themselves; the silence largely remains, however. I lean back and sigh, drawing out the exhale with shut eyes. “Still gotta print.” I remember, going back to the original documents and setting them up in the printer queue. Why is it so full? I don’t know if I have time to wait: the clock is ticking away the minutes until the work day comes to a close. I turn, frowning. “O.”

Slowly, Otabek pulls his attention from his computer screen. “Yeah?”

“You fill the printer queue?”

“No. What?” His eyes go wide, fully facing me with something akin to horror. I point at the message on my screen. “Shit. I still have to print.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Yeah, me, too.”

Otabek looks over at our other coworkers. “Sara, you printing?”

She shakes her head. “No, not today.”

Unless someone from the front end is printing every transaction ever made, there’s only one person who could be clogging the only printer in the office. She’s sitting right across from Sara, so there’s no way our conversation could be out of earshot. “I know she can hear me.” Otabek rolls his eyes, keeping his voice quiet before stepping towards our coworkers. “Anya.” His voice is stern and rather low. This must be his annoyed voice. The woman stops twirling her dark hair long enough to look over at us, oblivious to the rest of life happening around her. She only blinks in response. “Are you printing a novel?” Otabek’s question makes me laugh, but I keep that to myself.

“I have to review last year’s spring sales. It’s easier if I have hard copies.” Anya shrugs.

“Is it crucial? Something due by the end of the day?” Otabek’s trying to be polite, but I can tell he’s nearing the end of his rope.

“Not really.”

His shoulders fall at her response, rubbing his forehead. “Our stuff is. Can you pause it so we can use the printer before we have to get out of here?” I’m grateful he’s asking her for this favor instead of me; I don’t think I could be so nice or patient. That, and I simply don’t care for Anya or her lack of compassion.

She taps one key and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Done.”

Otabek thanks her while the message on my screen disappears. Finally, my print job has begun! I stand up, thrilled at the prospect of finishing earlier than planned. “Hot off the press!” I rush from the room and stand by the printer, tapping a rhythm on the dusty grey machine. Only one of my projects comes out of the machine before something else starts to print. Frowning, I find Otabek walking over. “You interrupted my printing.”

He laughs, the bastard. “I have things to print, too, you know.”

My documents are finished before his, but I wait for him. “Are we really going to finish early today?” I check the time on my phone, astonished at the way luck has turned around.

With a nod, he smirks and swipes his papers from the machine. “Finished.”

“Finished?”

“Yes!” Otabek’s hand meets mine in the air, a loud high-five marking the end of our pre-audit paperwork. “Let’s leave.” He suggests as we find our desks again.

I nod, knowing I have nowhere to be but would rather be anywhere but here. “Agreed.”

“Wanna grab a drink?”

Today did not involve whiny music from the morning show on the radio. Work was grueling, though it wasn’t difficult, but our deadline was put on us only a few days ago, causing our activities to be hurried and frantic. My brain is fried, but I’m not physically exhausted. Today also didn’t involve my stomach growling from the moment I clocked in: boxes of donuts were waiting in the breakroom all morning and were replaced with pizzas when noon rolled around. I didn’t have to spend a dime, and have been quite well fed; how could I not be in a decent mood? I nod, closing all the tabs on my monitor with one last check at their upload progress. “Actually, that sounds good.” My computer’s black screen looks like heaven to me.

Otabek pulls his phone out. “Cool. Want to invite Sara?” He gestures over his shoulders.

If we invite one of our coworkers, does that mean we have to invite the other? I step closer to him, using my most discreet voice: “If we invite her, do we have to invite Anya?” This is a serious question. Serious as a concussion. He laughs, though, almost dropping his phone.

“No, we don’t have to. I got it. Gotta make a call first.” Otabek waves me away, so I gather up my things and throw on a coat. He walks over to Sara before making his call.

There aren’t any notifications I care about on my phone, but I need to get a hold of someone, too. Phichit volunteered to take Victor and Yuuri to the airport this evening, promising he’d be back in time to share a quick meal before he goes to work. I don’t need his permission, or anything, to go out for a drink but he should know that plans may change with these new developments. A short text should do the trick: ‘Hey, P. Going out for drinks with O and Sara. Should be a few hours but not all night.’ I wait around for Otabek to finish his call to someone he refers to as Baby; at the same time, Sara finishes up her work and stands near us.

“Where are we headed?” She asks, swinging her purse by its long strap.

I shrug, honestly not sure. “Don’t know. Probably the place by the pawn shop. That’s where Otabek usually likes to go.” I kick Otabek’s shoe when he joins us. “How’s Baby?”

“Busy making dinner.” He smirks. “And Beautiful?”

“Doing well.” I ignore the warmth in my face to play this dumb game so we can share a laugh at each other. Sara looks uncertain, but laughs anyway and I don’t mind; she’s a nice enough person, I suppose. Otabek offers his car, and drives us away from the office. On the way over, I check my newest message: Phichit’s response. I don’t read it until I see that we’re going to the same bar we typically go to.

‘Lucky! Airport is sooo boring w no ticket lol Want a ride later?’

I guess the other alternative is to have Otabek be my driver, but maybe I shouldn’t put that duty on him. If Phichit picks me up, we’ll definitely have time to hang out before he goes to work. It’s a sensible idea that’ll get me out of hanging out for too long if I suddenly hate it. ‘Ha, you’re so smart. Let me know when you’re on your way. Same bar as before.’

‘Lol kk, will do :D’

Walking through the door, the typical chorus of the jukebox blends with stray bits of conversation and laughter. A small group is at the counter, another at a table off to the side; it’s still early in the evening, but later, few seats will remain. The bartender waves at us before we’ve reached his territory at the bar, an easy smile greeting us. “Hey, you two.” His eyes shift to Sara, nodding her presence. “A new face? That’s a surprise.” He laughs.

“Leo, you met Sara.” Otabek says while taking a seat. “You were both at my party.”

Sara sits to my left, leaving me the spot between her and Otabek. Leo hums, wiping at a spot on the countertop that looks sticky. “Really? Well, good to see you again, then.” He shrugs with an amusing smile; I don’t know him well enough to tell if he’s embarrassed or being shy, but it’s funny. When he asks for our order, we get a round of beers. “How have you all been?” Leo asks as he tidies up the area we can’t see.

“These two all but ran out of the office.” Sara laughs.

“Don’t they always?” Leo smirks.

Otabek waves his hand, a grave look on his face. “You don’t understand. We got this deadline slammed on us at the last minute, and worked our asses off until the clock ran out.” He gestures at me. “We deserve a few beers.”

“Tasting really good right now.” I admit. I’m not sure why, but it’s like water in the desert. Perhaps I’m just thirsty.

Leo smiles again. “Plenty more where that came from.”

One thing I’ve learned about this bartender is that nothing seems to get him down. He’s broken up arguments, calmed displeased customers, shrugged off flirting attempts and talked people through issues; all of this while never letting his smile leave for more than a few seconds. I used to wonder how some people could be so positive, and it actually still bothers me a little when nothing rattles certain folks. Life isn’t always sunshine and it makes no sense to pretend otherwise. Since dating Phichit, though, I’ve come to understand that people like him and Leo handle life and its obstacles differently from the way I do. It’s not bad. Sometimes it’s blinding, but it’s not bad. I finish my beer and ask for another. “Thanks.” I nod and chug away.

“You two did work really hard.” Sara nods. “I’ve never known people to focus and stuff on the job like you do.” She doesn’t say she’s comparing us to anybody in particular, but it feels like she is. Maybe Anya, or maybe someone else from her past? Who knows.

“What else were we gonna do?” Otabek chuckles. “We had a deadline.”

“And it's just doing our jobs.” I shrug, taking another long gulp. “We get paid to do it, so might as well do it right.” That, and I hate making mistakes. If I look bad at work, my livelihood is on the line; why would I slack off?

Sara shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, but I’m not used to that.” She sips from her bottle, still the first one. “At my last job, everyone goofed around. It was fun, but it never felt like anything got done.” Her laugh is light, like she’s recalling a pleasant memory. It’s somewhat of a pleasant sound, not abrasive or annoying. Her girlfriend probably loves it; I know I love Phichit’s laugh.

“Where'd you work?” Leo asks, looking intrigued at such a simple topic.

No offense to Sara, but I’m more interested in getting to the bottom of my beer than thinking about past jobs. If I were to talk about where I’ve worked, I’m sure they’d fall asleep. While working on my degree, I picked up some hours at the student store, stocking textbooks and shit. I’ll be the first to admit it was boring as hell, but I didn’t have to interact with others much and it was rather simple. I guess I haven't moved on a great deal: I still remain fairly silent and don’t see much action on the job, but the pay is much better and I somehow enjoy sitting at a computer more than walking around a store. Sara's still talking, mentioning something about a record store, when I feel an elbow at my arm. “You trying to get drunk?” Otabek asks.

Well, of course not, but I can’t help it if this beer tastes good. I shake my head slowly in case the room starts to spin. “No, it’s just good.” His expression doesn’t change, so I don't think he’s convinced. “I’m just glad to be off the clock.” Maybe that damn deadline was more stressful than I realized. Also, this bottle is emptier than I realized.

“Maybe some water.” Otabek tells Leo, like if I’m not here or some kind of kid.

“O, I don’t need babysitting.” I roll my eyes. He’s a friend, yes, but that doesn't make him obligated to watch my alcohol intake. Why does he care? Since when does Otabek care so much about me? From what I’ve gathered, he doesn’t care all that much about most things; his husband, eating twice at work, taking his motorcycle out. Am I on that list? Perhaps it’s a privilege to have Otabek’s concern. I grab his arm, giving it a squeeze. “But thank you for looking out for me.”

He smiles, eventually patting my hand still gripping him. “No problem. Make sure you finish it before getting another beer.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not even six and you’re acting a little buzzed.”

That’s where he’s wrong: I’m not acting. Leo hands me a glass of water, slipping a coaster underneath. “Thank you. I’ll drink this because I’m really fucking thirsty.” Sitting at a desk all day doesn’t give me much of an opportunity to stay hydrated.

“Do you drink often, Seung Gil?” Sara asks, resting her chin in her hand. When I saw her with her girlfriend, I thought they made a striking couple. I wonder how they met.

I shake my head, turning to her. “No, not really. How did you meet your girlfriend?”

She smiles and I ignore Otabek's snickering behind me. “Years ago, I was still at my old job, taking pictures of an album display.” Right: record store. “A customer walked in, this pretty redhead, and I wanted to talk to her. I didn’t know how to start a conversation without being creepy, so I asked of she wanted to be in some of the pictures I’d be posting.”

“That’s not creepy?”

Now Otabek laughs, not holding back. Sara smacks my arm, but she’s still smiling. “No, you dick! I was being cute. And, anyway, she agreed and gave me her number so I could send the pictures and we got to talking and became friends.” With water comes some sensibility; my face still feels warm and the room is still shaky, but I can’t remember why I asked such a personal question. I nod in thought, thinking it over, when Leo leans over.

“Do you know how Otabek met his husband?” He grins.

“Should I?” I ask, holding onto the bar for stability while turning around again.

“I want to hear it!” Sara laughs.

Otabek shakes his head. “It's not really interesting.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Of course it is. Go on.”

“Fine.” Otabek takes a swig before continuing, which leads me to believe this story is far more interesting than he's admitting. “Six years ago, I was at my sister’s birthday party, kind of like a chaperone.” I think he was twenty then? My math isn’t great right now. “She just really wanted to take her friends to the roller rink, and someone had to make sure they stayed out of trouble. That duty fell to me, of course, so I stood around and tried not to die of boredom.” I haven’t been roller skating before, but it doesn’t seem particularly fun. Otabek must’ve been at least balls-deep in restlessness. “The DJ was playing some really awful songs, and it started to get on my nerves. And I mean really awful, preteen pop crap. The kind of stuff you like.” He elbows me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes. Since my water’s gone, I’m free to get more beer without flack; Leo obliges me. “I went over to the DJ booth to complain. I had some slick insult ready for him, but the punk immediately started screaming at me to get my skates off his floor.”

An abrupt laugh escapes my mouth before I can cover it. “You were wearing skates?!”

The others are laughing a bit, too, but nobody seems quite as entertained by Otabek’s story as I am. I can’t imagine him wearing roller skates, especially if he was just a chaperone; the mental image is just too funny. “Yeah? I was at a skating rink.” O shrugs and continues over my residual laughter. “Anyway, the kid yelled at me, but I didn’t leave. I told him his taste in music needed improvement, and he told me to mind my own fucking business.”

“And you didn’t, did you?” Sara predicts.

Otabek shakes his head. “No, I thought it was funny how worked up he got. So I gave him some suggestions, and he said he’d only listen to what I had to say if I did something cool on skates.”

“Something cool?” Leo repeats.

“Yeah, like, a trick.”

Is this story going where I think it is? “You do not know any skating tricks.” I accidentally slam my bottle, patting the counter in apology. “I didn’t even know you knew how to skate.” I scoff.

“His face when I stepped out on the rink.” He pauses to smile, like reliving the memory in secret. “I don’t think he expected me to actually go through with it, and I’m not sure why I did, but it was priceless. My sister was so embarrassed, she wouldn’t even look at me the rest of the night.” Having a little sister like that would probably get on my nerves; Otabek seems amused by it, though. “When I went back to the DJ, he told me he could only play what was appropriate for the event, which didn’t include my suggestions.”

Sara laughs at this, tapping the counter. “You skated for nothing!”

“I got to meet the DJ.” Otabek smirks. “And now he’s waiting at home for me.”

Unfortunately, that story is cute and reminds me of how un-cute meeting Phichit was, me being drunk and cranky over the phone. If I could do it over again, I’d call his show, sober, and tell him how generous he is to share his expertise with strangers and how thoughtful he is to help people he’ll never meet. I’d ask him for his personal number so I could learn more about who he is right from the start. Every day and every night, I’d get to know him until asking him on a proper date where we’d met in person. It’d be a sweeter tale to tell our friends, that’s for damn sure. Things are working out now, so I guess it’s fine, but still: our how-we-met story isn’t flattering. “Do you wish you could change it?” I ask Otabek. Not on purpose; it just kinda slips out, but he thinks it over just the same.

“No.” He shakes his head.

For whatever reason, I like this answer and drop the topic entirely. The bar becomes busier, livelier, with the after-work crowd settled in. Leo has to move along the counter to serve the newcomers, exiting our conversations every few minutes to do his job. Our talk moves on to how embarrassing Sara’s brother can be to how Leo decided to be a bartender. I also learn that Sara was considering moving before getting together with Mila and that Otabek has never seen a shooting star. Some comments make me laugh, some make me cringe. I prefer to stay away from sharing too much with these fine folks, enjoying what they have to say more than hearing my own voice. At some point, I’m apparently acting too tipsy for Otabek’s liking again, so he cuts me off and keeps the water coming. I somehow find it appropriate to thank him with a kiss on the cheek, which he responds to by squeezing my shoulder with a smile. Phichit sends a text that I read as ‘Done here at 5’ but upon closer inspection actually says ‘Done! There in 5’ and I laugh at my mistake. “I can’t read.” It soon becomes evident that I can’t text, either; my phone can’t even figure out what I’m trying to say at this point, so I send a single letter in affirmation.

“Is Phichit on his way?” Sara asks.

I almost fall off my bar stool when I turn to look at her. “Yeah, he’ll be here soon.” I didn’t realize her eyes were such an unusual shade of violet before. I blink, making sure the color isn’t an illusion of light or the angle. “Your eyes are a pretty color.” I’m only being honest, but this makes her blush a dark shade, eyes darting to the side.

“Oh, um…thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Shit, she’s acting weird all of a sudden. Otabek laughs, but I don’t turn to look at him; I don’t want to fall on the floor.

“She thinks you’re hot.” Otabek blurts. 

“I have a girlfriend!”

“So? You can still think he’s hot.”

I’m not sure what the hell they’re going on about. I try to piece together the words to make sense of it, but someone walking towards us catches my eye. The man strides with confidence, long legs wrapped in pale blue denim. Even with all the noise buzzing around me, his black boots make a slight squeak against the wood flooring, wet from the outside weather. His puffy jacket is unzipped, hands in his pockets. The burnt orange hue frames his dark grey jumper, snug against his torso with thin reddish stripes breaking up the deep shade. His hat is a similar shade of grey, but he takes it off to ruffle his shiny black hair. A sly smile plays on his lips in a shade of deep pink that couldn’t be more inviting. He’s looking right at me, eyes locked on mine with a playful glint that hypnotizes me to keep staring. Plain and simple, the man is stunning. “Evening, Mr. Lee.” His velvet voice cuts through everything around us, the chatter and laughter and music fading to nothing. “Wanna come home with me?” Like a fool, all I can do is nod; I’d probably do anything he asked me to right now. He says something to Otabek but I miss it: I’m too focused on the way his smile brightens the room, stopping my heart for a beat or two. Without another word, he offers his hand to me. I thread my fingers in his, following him through the crowded bar and out into the cold. His car is still warm inside, like he had the heater on for a long time. I think maybe the seat has its own heater, too, because it feels like a hug all around me once I buckle in. “You’re being quiet.” He mutters under his breath. “You looked like you were having a good time, but I don't want to assume anything, especially since you don’t drink unless you’re sad.” I was having a good time, but what could be better than being taken home by a gorgeous individual with impeccable taste in cologne? Friends are cool, but I knew I couldn’t stay out all night with them: that'd be way too tiring.

“Work sucked ass, but I did have fun at the bar.” I nod, leaning over to rest my head on his. “But I can’t be social the entire night. Too tired.”

He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, at least you enjoyed yourself. I think you’re heading in the right direction.” While he drives, I can’t resist kissing his cheek, his chin, his neck until he swats me away with a laugh. “I’m trying to drive, you know.” I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything, but I pause on the kisses and leave my head on his arm anyway; he’s comfy.

When the car stops, I peer out the window only to find we're not at my building. “This isn’t mine.”

He shakes his head with a smile and helps me out of the car; his shoulder is supporting a lot of my weight for some reason. “No, it's my place. I hope that’s okay.” I silently agree and drag my feet across the parking lot and stumble up a staircase. Since when did stairs become so problematic? He doesn’t seem to be having any issues with them, but I’m thinking he's probably used to walking these steps since he has a key to the apartment and all. He takes my coat and helps me out of my shoes, but only after I shut the door. “Otabek says you drank too much, but he didn’t sound all that sober to me, either.” A little laugh lightens his tone. “Let’s get you to bed.” I don’t really want to go to bed, but he tugs my arm and leaves me no option but to follow him. His bedroom smells nice, like cinnamon and honey. It reminds me of late nights and jazz, but also of sleepy morning kisses and nails across my back. Now that I’m under the covers, all I want is for him to join me. He shakes his head when I try to pull him over. “I can’t stay.”

“But you’re hot.”

“I have to go to work.” He sighs. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

I’m not sure if I believe that or not. What I am sure of is that I’d like to taste those lips of his before he leaves; at least I’ll have that memory in case he doesn’t come back soon. Without warning, I yank him to me in a terrible kiss that may have bruised us both. “Sorry.” I mumble against his mouth. I think I’ve lied to him: I’m not sorry. “You taste good.” I inform him after he pulls back. He rolls his eyes, even though I’m serious.

“Say that when you’re sober. I’ll be back, okay?” He tucks the blankets around me, setting something up on the nightstand. My eyes start to droop, the warmth enveloping me in a safe embrace. “Sleep well.” He turns the lamp off, somehow knowing it's one of the few things keeping me awake. How he knew I was sleepy is beyond me, but I’m grateful.

“You, too, Phichit.”

The next time I open my eyes, the room is no longer dark. It’s almost too bright, and I squint with an annoyed groan. I’m not in my own bed, my own room, but I recognize my surroundings like if they’re mine: desk and mirror lined with cosmetics and hair products, closet so full the door remains cracked open, bronze ottoman with jewel toned upholstery, framed photos of people I don’t know in Thailand. I’ve been spending more and more time here lately that the lack of my own things around nearly makes me frown. Upon an attempt to sit up, my head throbs with enough force to make me lie back down with a louder groan this time. “Babe?” A hand presses against my shoulder, gentle but present. “Take it easy today.” The bed shifts under the loss of his weight before he helps me sit up a bit. “Drink some.”

A plastic bottle is pushed to my hand along with a couple vitamins. I don’t bother asking why the chalky supplements: we’ve both been down this road before, so I don’t need to ask. “Thanks.” At least I’m not sick in my stomach: that means I didn’t drink far too much. My eyes finally adjust to the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I set the bottle back down and take in the sight of Phichit, clothes wrinkled and hair tousled from sleep. “Phichit?”

“Yeah?” He climbs over me to get back under the covers, close enough that our arms brush but not close enough for my liking. I curl against him, sighing when he snuggles back. “What’s up?”

Even first thing waking up, he’s in a good mood. He isn’t afraid of the unexpected, doesn’t shy away from new things; Phichit is gloriously unlike me. I don’t remember what I was going to say, but a new thought has entered my mind. “You're my favorite person.”

“Aww, Seung Gil.” Phichit kisses my cheek. “You're mine, too.”

The warmth that little kiss fills me with is ridiculous, but I don’t care; I get to spend my day with the nicest person I’ve ever met. My head may hurt and I may feel sleep deprived, but in Phichit’s arms, I'm doing pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t super drunk, but not really sober? Also, vitamins really do help when one has been drinking. A lot of peeps just think water and aspirin, but refueling is a must. Be responsible, readers XD I was in need of fluff, so I had to make the end nice and sweet hahha Take care, y’all!


	17. Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing this, all the smoke outdoors is making it difficult to leave the house, so I have more chances to write now! Did anybody particularly like that yoga chapter? It was so fun to write, so we’re going to revisit the yoga studio :D

Of course I can’t find my gym bag now that I need it. It’s annoying because I left it right by my yoga mat for a reason: convenience. I’m supposed to be dropped off at Yuuri’s, now that he’s back from his trip, so we can make our Thursday yoga session, but I can’t without that bag. “Where are you?” I mutter to myself, digging through my closet contents. Clothes get tossed here and there, the floor getting buried under jumpers and jeans and a stray sock or two; I know I’ll have to clean up later, but I just need that bag! “Damn it, where did it go?” I shout into the void, kicking a coat to the side.

“What’s going on in here?”

At the sound of that voice, I hide under a particularly large pile of clothes with a whine. “I’m making a mess.” The shirt covering my eyes gets pulled aside, revealing Seung Gil’s face.

“Hi.”

I sigh, but can’t fight a tired smile. “Hi.” Maybe I should explain why I’m in the process of tearing apart my bedroom. “Have you seen my gym bag? It’s turquoise canvas with an ugly duct tape patch on one corner and weird stitching in another.”

“Sounds like it’s ready for the garbage. Why not get a new bag?”

Not the point! Sitting up, I start gathering things in piles to sort later. “It still has stuff in it, and I need it for yoga today.” He helps me to my feet. “And I’ve had it forever.”

Seung Gil shrugs, squeezing my hands. “Yeah, but maybe it’s time for a new one. I haven’t seen it.” Excellent: it’s missing. If it isn’t in this room, I don’t know where it could be. I want to express this out loud, but the look in Seung Gil’s eyes halts my words. “Um, so you’re going to hang out after yoga, right?” He asks. I nod, curious where this is going. “Does it…do you have to go alone this time?” Wait, what’s he getting at? I’m not sure if he doesn’t want me to leave or doesn’t want me to be alone with Yuuri or simply forgot about my plans. He starts to blink, somewhat pink in the face. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s fine. Like, if this is something just between you two, I understand. I thought it might be nice to spend time with him since he’s back in town, or…never mind.”

Before he can walk away, I grab his wrist. “Wait! You want to come with us?”

“I mean, he is your best friend and I’m going to see him around from time to time and everything. It’s just the two of you, so it won’t be so bad, right?”

I’ve gone to the studio with Yuuri pretty much every week since I’ve met Seung Gil, but he’s never shown any interest in wanting to go, too. Now, he’s made the decision on his own to get to know my best friend! I’m so excited by this notion, I could kiss him: so I do. The sudden action surprises him, if his wide eyed expression is anything to go by. “You’re quite a find, Mr. Lee.” Yuuri doesn’t know Seung Gil wants to come with, but I’m sure he won’t mind. “I’ll text to make sure it’s cool. You’re sure you want to go?”

“Well, yoga and the juice bar, right?” He asks. I nod, thrilled that he’s considering a social activity without having me suggest it. “I think I can handle that.”

With a cheer, I pull him in for a tight hug. “I’m so glad! Do you have anything to wear?”

Really, his look should say it all, but I wait for a response. “Um…I don’t know?”

Going with the assumption that he’s never been to a yoga session before. We’re about the same size, so I’m sure I can find something that’ll do around here somewhere. “No worries!” I reassure him in a made up melody. Suddenly, I’m glad there are so many pieces of clothing lying around. Sifting through it is short work: suitable shorts and a shirt are found in no time. My phone starts to ring while Seung Gil changes, but I don’t see it. “Now where did my phone go?” I sigh.

“Nightstand.”

Ah, that’s right! Good thing Seung Gil noticed or I’d be looking around this mess in vain. “Thanks, babe.” It’s Yuuri calling, so I answer right away. “I’m almost ready! I was about to text you, actually.”

“Is it about your bag? Because I have it right here.”

Seriously? No wonder I couldn’t find it! “Wait, I left it at your house? What the hell?” One of us is laughing, and it’s not me. “Why is that funny? I was tearing apart my room looking for it.” Honestly, he could’ve saved me a lot of trouble if he’d sent a picture of the bag earlier, or something. Spilled milk I guess.

Yuuri clears his throat to stop his giggling. “Sorry, I didn’t know you forgot it was here. What were you going to say?”

“What?”

“You said you were going to text me?”

Oh, duh! “Right. Is it cool for Seung Gil to join us? He’s in a sociable mood.” I want to say more, like it’s so cute that he wants to get to know Yuuri and spend time with us and it was a thousand percent his idea, but he’s standing a few feet away from me, folding his clothes on the bed; I can always ramble on about my boyfriend later.

“Really? Yeah! I don’t mind at all.” I can hear the smile in Yuuri’s voice. “Is he a beginner?”

“I think so, but that’s no biggie. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

Yuuri and I say our temporary farewells so I can give Seung Gil a rundown of what’s to come. He doesn’t ask me to, but I know it’ll help him mentally prepare. He knows the way to Yuuri and Victor’s house, no longer needing me to feed him directions while he drives. “Two hours of stretching?” He asks, like that’s an eternity.

“It’s more like an hour and a half, but with twenty or so minutes of resting.”

“Okay.”

“And then the bar is in the same building, so we’ll all walk to there and relax for a bit. Another hour and a half sound alright?” He nods, but I want to warn him not to quote me on that; I’m trying to keep things short but we’ll see. “We may end up talking longer than that, so if you’re feeling like it’s too much, just say you want to head back. Yuuri’s gold, so he’ll understand.”

Seung Gil pulls into the driveway, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “He’s not going to give me a hard time, is he?”

With an eye roll, I scoff. “Yeah right.” I send Yuuri a text to let him know we’re here.

“I’m just making sure.”

“I know.” I nudge his arm without force. “But he’s not like that. Remember how nice he was after the party, sending a pizza to your apartment?” A couple days after Seung Gil and Yuuri met, the latter had food delivered to him to help cheer him up; I was all too happy to forward his address. “He knows what it’s like meeting new people.”

My boyfriend nods, exhaling to relax his shoulders. “Yeah, he is nice. Even after I ran from his hug.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That was smooth.”

Yuuri jogs down the front steps, waving at us before hopping in the backseat. “Hey guys.” He tosses my ugly bag at me without warning, ignoring my offended gasp when it hits me in the shoulder. “Here are your rags.”

The two of them laugh, which I’m not sure how to feel about: on one hand, Seung Gil’s getting along with Yuuri; on the other, it’s at my expense. “It’s a bag and you know it.”

“I told him he needs a new one.” Seung Gil mentions.

“See, Phichit?” Yuuri chuckles.

I find myself rolling my eyes again, even if my traitorous mouth curls in a smile. “I get it! Which one of you is buying it for me?”

“Done.” Seung Gil nods.

He may not like sharing his food, but Seung Gil is surprisingly generous. Before I can thank him for the offer, Yuuri pinches my shoulder. “Settled.” I can tell from his smile that he’s just as appreciative of Seung Gil’s generosity as I am; we always want what’s best for each other, including significant others. “So how are you guys?”

Since Seung Gil is being such a sweetheart today, I tackle most of the talking. On the drive, only a couple comments and questions are directed at him, anyway, so it’s an easy trip to the studio. As usual, Yuuri and I set up our yoga mats at the back of the room, keeping the end spot open for Seung Gil. He copies our movements, unrolling the mat I loaned him and setting his things in the bag he and Yuuri both evidently hate. “Sit like this.” I show him the posture we normally start in, crossing my legs in lotus position. Really, it shouldn’t surprise me how easily he figures it out; I know how flexible he is, but I assumed he’d need some guidance. “You’re a fast learner.”

He shrugs, settling in on my left. “I like to learn new things.”

“Hopefully you’ll learn plenty.” Yuuri smiles on my right.

Once the session starts, my conversation with Yuuri doesn’t end. “Minami talk to you about a new club he heard about?” I whisper to Yuuri. He regulates his breathing before answering.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Um, because anything Minami tells anyone has already been told to Yuuri? This is generally accepted as fact, as far as I know. “He always talks to you first about everything, even if it’s about the weather.” I remind him.

“That’s not true.”

I ignore his smile in favor of scoffing at him. “You know very well it’s the truth. You’re his idol.”

“I am not. We’re coworkers and friends, and he likes my show.” With a shrug, he moves on to the question at hand. “I might drag Victor with me. You going?”

“Probably, but I want to talk Minami into going later on a Saturday.”

As we shift postures, Yuuri turns to me. “How late are we talking?”

Normally I’d have no problem spending all evening with friends until the sun comes up, but a boyfriend changes that. I’m willing to go out with the others, but I’d like to spend time with Seung Gil on one of our shared days off, too, and not force him into prolonged discomfort. “Maybe, like, after dinner. I don’t get many hours with Seung Gil, so I don’t want to be out all night; just late night.”

“Makes sense.”

“Do you think Mila will bring her girlfriend?”

Yuuri chuckles under his breath. “She brings her everywhere. I’ve never seen her so crazy over someone before.”

“I mean, who’d be crazy over her last ex? That guy was obnoxious.”

“Everyone has their own tastes.”

Oh, come on; the guy literally had no chill. While we relax into a new pose, I do my best to give Yuuri a look. “Having a guy who brags about his new car of the month every five minutes is not a taste anyone has.” End of story.

“Okay, maybe that last one was bad.”

“Understatement.”

Yuuri smiles, honest and hopeful through his eyes. “Now she’s always happy.” This is true: Mila is a pro at hiding her feelings behind snarky smiles and diverted teasing, but we all knew she was feeling pretty low for a while. She went out with some people who were no match for her on any level, really; they weren’t as clever, never as driven or loyal. Since dating Sara, I think she’s come to realize that she deserves someone who supports her and loves the same things she loves. Smiles look good on everyone, and that’s my professional opinion. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I whisper.

Our shifting movements pause the conversation for a moment. I catch a glimpse over my shoulder, finding Seung Gil keeping up with us just fine. “That.”

What’s Yuuri talking about? “What?”

“Your smile.” He forces a laugh away, still grinning. “Has the sky seemed bluer to you lately?”

“Yuuri, do not.”

“Have you experienced a loss of appetite?” I don’t even acknowledge this, rolling my eyes at his questioning. “Or feelings of loss when you’re alone? Or check your phone for messages, or cute pictures?” There’s no chance to tell him to stop. “Have you felt at a loss for words, or wanted to try new things or change your address or last name?”

To hell with our yoga: I shove Yuuri, making him laugh and waver in his balance. He has some shame, though, blushing over an apology to the glaring group for being loud. “Behave!” I scold.

“Remember when you asked me those questions?” He finally stops laughing, red in the face.

“I did not ask you if you wanted to change your last name.” I smirk.

Yuuri nods a concession at this point. “Okay, yeah, but I didn’t know what I was feeling until you counseled me that way.” Back in the day, I was testing out some love theories on Yuuri when he was clearly falling for Victor; I didn’t think he’d use them on me one day. “And I’m happy for you, Phichit. You deserve that.”

I could hug him, but that would cause a disruption; a knowing smile is enough to get my gratitude across, I think. “Hey.” Seung Gil whispers, too far to hear the conversation centered around him.

“Yeah?”

“Are we allowed to talk?”

That depends on who's being asked, to be honest. I shrug. “Not really?”

“Oh, never mind, then. I’ll ask you later.”

He doesn’t seem to notice that an entire discussion has gone on regardless of the no-talking rule. I’m curious what he has to say now, regretting not asking what’s up. I mean, if it's important, he’ll remember and tell me later. Since I told him no talking, I remain silent with Yuuri, too. Try as I might, most of my thoughts turn to Seung Gil anyway, reinforcing Yuuri's earlier point of me being thoroughly struck by cupid's arrow. I don’t want to be thera-Phichit right now, delving into how valid my feelings are and if I’m misinterpreting attachment or attraction for something else, so I focus on my breathing for the remainder of our stretching. I periodically glance at Seung Gil, certain that no matter how I classify my emotions, there's no denying that I like being with the man more than I’ve liked being with anybody. I don’t need a doctorate to know that.

Śavāsana ends all too soon, quiet chatter around me jostling consciousness back. The conversation is about playing piano, and how it’s like riding a bike. When I rub my eyes and sit up, the voices become much clearer: Yuuri and Seung Gil, rolling up their mats and packing up to go. Seeing them smiling, relaxed in each other’s company gives me a warm feeling inside; I hoped they’d get along! A part of me wonders if they’re even going to wait for me before leaving. “Hey, you two.” I yawn, wiggling my fingers Seung Gil’s way.

He pulls me up, careful not to step on my mat now that his shoes are on. “Sleepyhead.”

“Seung Gil was just telling me he used to play piano as a kid.” Yuuri informs me. “It’s impossible to forget once you have the basics.”

I sigh and pack up my things, slow and lazy. “Only if you’re musically inclined. And I’m not.”

“But you’re a good singer.” Seung Gil protests.

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, that’s true.” He takes it upon himself to roll up my mat and expedite the process. “You just don’t play any instruments.”

“I tried to play violin once, and it scared the neighbors.”

Why did I share that? I guess if it makes the others laugh on our way to the bar, it's all good. “What does one order at a place like this?” Seung Gil whispers so only I can hear. I’ve been at several juice bars, but it doesn’t surprise me that he’s new to this; he cringes at the produce aisle when we grocery shop, after all.

Yuuri is already at the counter, deciding what to order. I pull Seung Gil closer to the counter to point at the menu. “Either a juice, smoothie or something in a bottle.” I direct his attention to the juice selection. “I’m getting one with apple, cucumber, lemon, beet and ginger.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I told him I was about to drink mud. That repulsed look is priceless, making me laugh and squeeze his shoulder. “Wow, your face!” Composing myself is no easy feat, but I do my best and review the menu. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

I smile, delighting in the ease of his response. “I’ll order for you. If you want, you can wait over there with Yuuri or wait with me.”

Seung Gil's eyes pass between my best friend and me, weighing his options in silence. There's no line at the register, so I don’t mind waiting at all. After some thought, he nods Yuuri's direction. “I’ll go with Yuuri, that way you can surprise me.” The cute little smile that precedes a quick kiss to my cheek rattles my heart against my ribcage, butterflies filling my belly. There's no chance to respond, so I’m left standing here with my jaw fallen open like a fish out of water. Seung Gil is far too adorable to be real, I swear.

“Want to find a place to sit?” Yuuri asks him, a bottle in each hand.

In response, Seung Gil nods, taking offense to the unopened bottle. “What is that and why is it black?”

“Oh, charcoal. For Victor's immune system.”

“Seriously gross.”

After I order for us, I tote the cups to the small table they picked, placed around the corner where they can’t see me watching them. It's hard to believe what I’m seeing, honestly. Yuuri rarely thinks my boyfriends are good enough for me, but can usually appreciate them for who they are anyway; the way his smile reaches his eyes and his laugh comes out so easily around Seung Gil is a blessing. Seung Gil isn't particularly fond of humans and claims he sucks at carrying on conversations, but he’s sitting right over there with someone he only met in person once before, smiling a little and talking back and forth without any hesitation in his gaze. His face is turning slightly pink, but…so is Yuuri's. What could they be talking about? Curiosity quickly wins over politeness as I duck behind the wall nearest to them without a sound. “He knows himself, but sometimes those little voices get through anyway. It's usually no big deal.” Yuuri informs him.

“So, is physical reassurance better than verbal?” Seung Gil leans forward. “I want to get it right.”

Yuuri sips from his bottle of juice, green with spinach, chia seeds and spirulina, before giving an answer. “I think it depends on what the insecurity is. If it's about how he looks, then hugs and kisses will be better. If it's something else, start with words and then add physical stuff to really make him feel better.”

“I guess it's a good thing I like cuddling with him.”

I’m pretty sure this isn’t a joke, but Yuuri laughs anyway with a nod. “Yeah, it’s a really good thing.” A natural lull in the conversation leaves me a great opportunity to walk over, a drink in each hand. Yuuri waves, smiling like he wasn’t just talking about me. “Hi, P.”

I sit beside Seung Gil, sliding his smoothie over. “What were you laughing about?” My question is directed at Yuuri, smirking shamelessly.

“How much Seung Gil is already spoiling you.”

“Yuuri!” I sigh, rolling my eyes. Seung Gil chuckles, looking his drink over. “I can’t help if my own boyfriend likes treating me well.”

“I’m kidding.” Yuuri insists. “I was telling him the best ways to take care of you, since he asked.”

And just like that, I’m a puddle of blushing adoration drained of cattiness and curiosity. How else should I react to my best friend looking out for me and my boyfriend getting tips for how to be good to me? I thought they were gossiping, but this is a million times better. My vocabulary is suddenly reduced to one word: “Babe.” I thread my fingers through Seung Gil's and just stare at him, feeling lucky and, yes, loved. With his other hand, he points at his cup.

“What’s in this?”

“Chocolate, banana, peanut butter.”

His smile grows, squeezing my hand twice. “I knew I could trust you.”

Not long after some talk about movies, cooking and the station, Yuuri gets a call from his husband that he'll be home earlier than planned and he basically rushes us out and to the car. I happen to know that Victor has been particularly busy this week and Yuuri is dying to spend some time with him; the excitement that lit up his face when the call came in would be a giveaway even to the untrained eye. Seung Gil stays in the driveway after we drop Yuuri off, checking his phone for something. When he doesn't say anything, I lower the radio volume. “Are you busy?” I’m not trying to get him off the phone, but I do want to know why we're just sitting in someone else's parking space.

He looks up, pointing at the screen. “Checking the weather.”

Alright then. “Oh, I’m sure it’s great news.” I sigh. “Cold with a chance of frostbite.”

“I want to know when the temperature will go back up.”

“Oh yeah?”

Seung Gil nods, finally setting his phone aside. “Yeah, so maybe we can go out for a walk downtown, or go to the park without worrying about you freezing to death.” He pauses in his attempt at backing out onto the street, turning to look at me with such urgency I feel like I’ve missed something. “Do you have a bike?”

Why does he look so concerned? “Um, yeah, in storage at my place?”

His shoulders fall with a sigh and he resumes driving away from Yuuri's place. “Okay, good. That’ll be something we can do if spring ever shows up.”

Why that was such a cause for concern is beyond me. I don’t ask, either; I sit back and laugh softly. “Oh, Mr. Lee. It's too bad we hadn’t met sooner.” In place of a response, Seung Gil grabs my hand and doesn’t let go. “By the way, babe. You started telling me something during yoga, but never got to the actual question. What were you going to ask?”

“Shit, you’re right. Do we have a waffle iron?”

We: used to refer to oneself and one or more other people together. I shouldn’t feel such giddiness from a two letter word everyone says every day, especially in a context where the main topic is waffles. Analyzing it would be silly, I know, so I’ll write it off as Seung Gil simply being comfortable with our relationship and treat myself to a grin anyway. “Yes, it's in the cupboard by the blender. Why?”

“Okay, ‘cause I saw this recipe for bacon and cheese hashbrowns, or something, that you make in a waffle iron and it looked like something we could try.” He shrugs, suppressing a smile. “Not the healthiest thing, I know, but I’m hungry and I want that. Are you interested?”

“Only if we already have all the ingredients.” I listen to him list off what we need, surprised that we actually do have it all. “Yeah, we're good!”

“Super. Do you mind if I nap first?” He asks when he finds a parking space he likes. I’ve seen his apartment and I’ve stopped by a handful of times, but we never stay there. At first I thought it was because he was embarrassed by it, but it's nicer than mine and I've gotten so used to having him over that I guess I forgot to mention it. “That got me sleepy.”

I remember to respond when we're trekking up the stairs, shaking my head. “No, go ahead.”

“Yuuri's a nice person, but I think I still need to recuperate a bit.”

Understandable; getting out of a comfort zone can be draining. I’m glad he knows himself enough to know what he needs to stay healthy. “That makes sense.” The warmth of my apartment is welcoming, pulling me to its familiarity and reminding me of the question I’ve never asked. “Can I ask you something?”

We pile our coats and shoes near the door, now having unspoken designated spots for our things. Seung Gil yawns, reaching his hands up to stretch before grabbing my hands at my sides. “You can.”

“Why don’t we ever stay at your place?” I’m only curious, but it kind of sounds insecure? I’m probably overthinking this, damn it. “I’m not saying we need to, and I don’t think you’re embarrassed or uncomfortable taking me there or anything like that, but…” I think I’ve just made myself sound exactly how I didn’t want to. Why am I dragging this out? Get to the point. “I’m just curious why we only stay here.”

Seung Gil's expression hasn’t changed a bit: still smiling enough for his dimple to show, hands in mine, eyes focused but not hard. “I prefer it.”

Simple as that? “You do?” I ask and he replies with a nod. “Why?”

“My place is cold and quiet. I never cook there, so it smells like a new apartment and books. It’s not warm like it is here, and doesn’t smell like your cinnamon coffee or that lotion you use after you shower.” He shrugs, taking a step closer. “It feels more like a home here than it does over there. Plus, you’re here and that’s definitely a top selling point.”

I smile, glad to know my place is a safe space for him; it feels good to be a comfort to somebody. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, well, I do.” Seung Gil kisses me, soft and verging on sleepy. “I’m good if I'm with you.”

If there’s a higher compliment, I have yet to hear it! My smile is relentless and all I want to do is hold this incredible individual until my arms give out. I settle for a hug instead, sure my feelings will come through. “You are such a treasure.” I only pull back to sneak in a quick kiss. “I’m glad you came with us to yoga. It was fun.”

“It was, but now I’m tired.” He tugs my hands, leading the way down the hall. “Come to bed with me, my beautiful.”

Curled up in his arms, pressed to his chest under a mountain of blankets is exactly where I want to be. Even though I’m not all that tired, resting in bed with Seung Gil is relaxing and sets every part of me at ease. Sometimes I can't believe my luck, but then again, everyone deserves happiness; mine came in the form of a quiet, kind and brilliant man who doesn’t make me feel less-than or needy. He makes me feel wanted and appreciated, which I could surely get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achieving personal goals is such a mood booster; personal growth is liberating, and I wanted to emphasize that in this fic. Bloom like flowers, yo~


	18. Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loose ends should just about be all tied up in this update!

Before going to bed last night, Seung Gil and I reached a milestone: we had our first argument. It wasn’t fun or pleasant, and I can now admit that it was essentially all my fault. Looking back, the whole thing didn’t need to happen, but in an odd way, I’m glad it did.

It was after dinner, when I was clearing the dishes from the table by myself. Seung Gil doesn’t really like cooking and is alright at it, but I typically make food for us on Sundays since I have the time and energy. For the first time in a while, I just felt exhausted and cooking was the last thing on my list of things I wanted to do. Anyway, Seung Gil typically helps in the kitchen, but last night, he was on the phone with his boss and couldn’t really contribute all that much to the meal and this annoyed me. I mean, it’s not like he could just ignore the call or hang up: work is important and I understand that. However, I would’ve loved the help, and as soon as we finished eating, he picked his phone back up and left to make another call without a word. What does that mean for the cleanup? That it falls squarely on me, even though I made the meal and served it while in a bad mood. I’ll admit, it didn’t ease my irritation that I couldn’t talk to him while cooking or after eating and I enjoy talking to my boyfriend for more than only the duration of a meal; I was near the end of my rope, honestly. With a whole lot of attitude, I slammed a lot of the dishes in the sink enough to make noise but not break them. As I put stuff away, I shut cupboards and drawers with more force than necessary just to be aggressive. It was childish and unhelpful and I couldn’t help myself. Seung Gil came into the room, still on the phone, and pointed at it as if to remind me he was trying to hear. That pissed me off further, so I tossed a plate, wet and soapy, on the floor. It shattered, sending pieces in all directions, but I didn’t care. I stepped over it and stomped to my room, avoiding brushing against him on the way. He ended his call abruptly, following me at precisely the right distance that I could slam the door in his face. Of course, that didn’t deter him: he opened the door and marched right over to me, frowning but not scowling or anything. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked.

I rolled my eyes, arms crossed, and turned away from him. “I’m mad, Seung Gil Lee.”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“Just because you’re too busy to notice doesn’t mean nothing has happened.” I remember turning back to him, angry that he was brushing my feelings off. He could’ve asked what was wrong instead of claiming there was nothing to be mad at. “But I guess you wouldn’t know when you won’t get off the fucking phone.”

“You’re always on your phone, and I don’t complain about it.”

Well, he’s said before that this doesn’t bother him; to bring it up then upset me more. “You said it doesn’t bother you! And I don’t mind you being on the phone, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“It was an important call.”

“So important you couldn’t help me clean up? After I made you dinner?”

He sighed, finally looking mad, too. “You ate, too. And I would have helped when I finished talking on the phone. You didn’t give me a chance, Phichit.”

“You didn’t help make dinner, you got up right after eating, you told me to shut up while I cleaned…”

“I never told you to shut up.”

He didn’t, but it felt like that’s what he was implying. “That’s how it felt. I didn’t even want to make dinner, but I did and you can’t spare me a minute of your time?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve gone out.”

“Or you could’ve helped me!” I was frustrated he was missing the point and my voice grew louder. “You could’ve waited to make your stupid call after helping me with the damn dishes! You could have told me you’d help, instead of making me feel like a fucking maid, cooking and cleaning for you while you do more important things!” I wasn’t paying attention to his expression; if I had been, I would’ve stopped yelling. “I’m not the only one in this relationship, and I’d like it to feel that way!” The silence that followed was so heavy, I lost my breath. My screeching voice echoed in my head, the awful words I said on repeat while Seung Gil just stood there, frozen and no longer frowning. His eyes were cast down, unfocused and wet. The anger drained from me when I noticed how his hands were trembling, how he bit down on his lip, how he turned away.

“Sorry.”

It was all he said before walking away. I thought I wanted him to apologize, to regret ignoring me and making me put in more work than he was; I thought I wanted him to say sorry. When it happened, though, I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. Why did I scream at my boyfriend until he shut down? Why did I intentionally make him feel bad for something we could’ve talked through? Why didn’t I take a moment to analyze what I was feeling? I was tired and not in a great mood, things added to that bad mood and I lashed out; simple as that. Did Seung Gil really do anything? I did want help, but it’s not like he never helps. He’s actually really generous with kitchen assistance and almost always does the dishes without question. He’s the sweetest man, and treats me with nothing but kindness. He didn’t deserve that reaction, those venomous words I spat at him. It wasn’t until I covered my face, ashamed, that I realized a tear or two had run down my cheeks. I used my shirt sleeves to wipe them up, rushing back out and to the kitchen. Seung Gil was crouching on the floor, sweeping up the mess I made of the off-white porcelain. A pain in my chest reminded me that I snapped at him, I reacted poorly, I broke a dish, I yelled at him, I hurt him, yet he was cleaning up. I sank to the floor, pushing the dustpan and plate away, wishing I could turn back time. I hate that I hurt him. “I’m sorry!” I blurted on a sob. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was in a bad mood and everything just piled up and I took it out on you when you didn’t deserve it.” I threw my arms around him, crying like I was in physical pain, holding on for dear life. “You don’t make me feel like a maid, and I don’t feel alone in this.” The tears wouldn’t stop. “You always help me, and you take care of me and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” If anything, the crying only worsened, especially when I felt arms around me in turn. “I’m sorry I said those things, and I’m sorry I made you feel bad. I never want to hurt you, Seung Gil, and I just want you to forgive me for being so awful to you because I didn’t mean it, I swear!”

For a while, Seung Gil simply held me in relative silence, my sobs the only noise in the room. I considered what would happen if he didn’t forgive me, reinvigorating my crying and sadness, ignoring all logic that one fight shouldn’t equal a break up. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” Seung Gil whispered, holding me closer. “I wanted to get the work stuff out of the way so I could be with you the rest of the night, but I didn’t know you needed my attention.” He leaned his head against mine, chin digging into my shoulder. “Next time, talk to me. Tell me you need me.”

His calm consideration made me feel like a dick all over again. “I’m sorry, babe. I really am.” I let him push me away, but immediately covered my face so he wouldn’t see me bawling. He pulled me by my wrists, holding my hands in his. It was then that I saw how red his eyes were, how dark his skin looked under his eyes. “I never want to hurt you like that.”

Seung Gil grabbed my face, pressing his forehead to mine. “Mistakes happen. We’ll both make them, but…I think we’re strong enough. We’re strong enough to get over them. We’ll be okay.”

It was such a simple thing to say; it made me feel better, though, as my sense of reason started to return. Couples fight; it’s normal. As long as we both fight for each other, we can get over any stupid argument. We shared a tearful kiss, cleaned up the kitchen together, dragged ourselves to bed and held each other under the covers, exchanging more kisses until we fell asleep. It wasn’t a good disagreement, but it really was a good learning experience. At the end of the day, every disagreement is an opportunity to grow and understand the other in a more complete way. When I woke up in Seung Gil’s arms this morning, I realized I never felt closer to him.

He dropped me off at the station after we ate dinner at a quiet restaurant, agreeing to pick me up after my shift. The kiss we shared before I got out of the car was warm and languid; it felt like it was meant to carry me through my worknight, and to be honest, I’m still thinking about it. I’m on a commercial break, fingers drumming against my mouth. Seung Gil knows how to make a kiss linger, that’s for sure. He inspired my topic for tonight: personal growth. I may not advertise this, but I’ve grown since meeting him, too: I can appreciate silence more, can be comfortable waiting for a response; I don’t need to analyze every action or every statement that comes my way; I understand little things can mean a lot; I feel like I can let go and trust more than I used to. I’ve told my listeners these things, sure to leave out Seung Gil’s name, but making it known that I’m growing with someone. Because it sounds too syrupy, I leave out the part where it feels rewarding to see somebody else reach their goals at your side; I’m not trying to give my listeners cavities. “I think we have time for one more caller.” I let the last one through, sipping my water in preparation. “P Chu is listening to you, dear caller. Who are you tonight?”  
The laugh I get in response nearly makes me choke on air; it’s so familiar, yet so distant. “Hello, P. I’m currently Confused.” Confused my ass: that’s Christophe and I know it.

Keeping my professionalism, I roll my eyes and keep my sigh silent. “Welcome. What’s got you confused?” I ask, not really interested in what he has to say. I don’t resent him for his reaction upon meeting Seung Gil, or even for how he treated me; I’m simply over it all. Apathetic, really.

“You’ve been talking about self-growth like it’s such an easy thing to do.”

“Have I? That wasn’t my intention.” I frown. When did I say bettering oneself is easy? “Of course it takes work and dedication. It’s not something that happens overnight.” I’m pretty sure I made this point earlier, but perhaps he wasn’t listening to the whole show. “Maybe you didn’t catch my entire show, Confused, but I’ve mentioned that it’s an ongoing process that takes patience and perseverance.”

Again, he laughs. “Okay, okay.” He clears his throat. “But do you think some people aren’t made for that kind of thing?”

“Are you saying that you don’t have any room for improvement?” I smirk, familiar with the things Chris dislikes about himself, resisting the sudden urge to spill it all. Okay, maybe I’m a little annoyed that he made Seung Gil feel bad; some teasing won’t hurt, right?

“No, sweetheart.” I can hear the pout in his voice. “I simply wonder if this kind of thing is easier for some.”

I tap my chin in thought, wondering what Chris is getting at. “Do you know someone who wants to improve themselves, but is having trouble doing that?” In all honesty, Chris is a stubborn man; I didn’t peg him for a real soul-searcher, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s having trouble in this department.

He sighs before answering. “Well, yes: me. It doesn’t help that I recently ran into someone I used to know, and they seemed…better than I remember?”

“Better? In what way?”

At this point, I’m wondering why he actually called. “It reminded me of something I took for granted.” Ah; this isn’t about my show. “But this person seemed like they’d become someone greater, and I feel like I’ve been left behind.” He pauses and I don’t try to fill the silence. “I don’t know how I can change like that, and be better than I am now. You make it sound so simple.”

I exhale, knowing what he’s talking about on a deeper level than the others listening. He thinks he misses me just because he saw me happy with someone else. This is a common mistake people make when running into their exes: he doesn’t really miss me, but he’s remembering the good things we had and seeing me in a new light since time has passed. Maybe he’s lonely, or maybe he actually felt more for me than I knew; either way, the past needs to stay where it is. “Here’s the thing, Confused: you have to want to better yourself for you, not for someone else, especially someone from your past. It’s the same as eating healthy and exercising. It won’t last if you don’t do it for the right reasons. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” He softly chuckles under his breath. “I think I understand what you mean.” I wait for him to elaborate, rehydrating in the meantime. “If I want to improve myself, it’s going to be on my own, right?”

“Self-improvement is a journey you make on your own terms, and it isn't always an easy process.”

“I understand.”

I really hope he’s being honest, but I need to be sure. “Well, we’re running out of time on the air, but if you stay on the line, I can offer you more advice, okay?” I offer. He agrees, surprise evident in his tone. I wrap up the show, cutting to early commercials, and pick the call back up. “You there, Chris?”

“I am.”

“We have a lot of the same friends and I don’t harbor any ill will towards you, so we have to get along to some extent, but I need to know if there’s anything left to say on your end.” Straight to the point, no bullshit.

Chris laughs, but it doesn’t sound too happy. “Oh, sweetheart, a novel could be written on what I have to say.” That’s not what I expected, but I let him speak. “I never did treat you how you needed me to. I regret making you so unhappy, but you know things were different then. I didn’t have my priorities in order. I really didn’t.” Where is this going? “Seeing you again, it did feel like old times. We had something special for a while, and it’s sad it ended how it did.” It could’ve been really ugly, so he’s lucky I have class. Maybe not a lot, but enough, I think. “You’re really happy with this new beau?”

My fingers reach for my lips, the ghost of Seung Gil’s kiss still at the front of my mind. Just thinking about him soothes my unease away, a smile curving the corners of my mouth up. “I am. He’s…he’s very special to me.”

“Good. That’s good, Phichit. I may not have always acted like it, but I think you deserve to be with someone who can give you what you want. Even, well…even if it’s not me.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I smirk.

“Possibly.” Chris scoffs. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

He huffs out a sigh. “Where to begin?” Where indeed. “Hurting you when I never meant to. Not listening to you. Um, making a scene at Yuri and Otabek’s party. Offending you and your boyfriend. Not being what you needed.”

“We never would’ve worked out and both been happy.” I remind him when regret seeps into his words. “You know that, right? We’re no good for each other that way.”

“I see that now.”

What a relief! I start to smile more, feeling lighter than I have since he called in. “I’m glad. You know, you deserve someone, too. Someone who works well with you and can support you and will actually remember where you left your glasses.” It’s nice to hear a genuine laugh from him: he’s not a bad person, and we all deserve happiness. “I really hope you’ll find him one day.”

“Thank you, P. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you hate me?”

“No, I never did. I was just hurt.” I shrug. “Enough time has passed for me that I’m not mad or hurt anymore.”

Chris hums in agreement before pausing again. “Well, I’m glad. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, by the way. You’re such a sweetheart.” When he uses my old pet name this time, it doesn’t make me internally cringe.

“It’s my job.” I chuckle. “It’s no problem, Chris.”

“So…friends?”

“Yes, but if you ever make my boyfriend uncomfortable again, I won’t be such a sweetheart, okay?” I had to warn him; it was the polite thing to do.

After we hang up, there are still a few minutes left before the next show. I take my time stretching and gathering my things, anticipating Mila and Yuri at the door. Another minute or two passes, and still no sign of them. Frowning, I check my phone for any messages saying the two will be late: nothing. Hm. Well, there’s really nothing left for me to do here, so I exit the booth. Ah, I can hear Mila’s voice in the lobby; they must be having a conversation over there. Instead of seeing the two talking alone, I see another familiar face and immediately hide around the corner. Seung Gil is the third person standing there, and he’s actually in the conversation! “It’s not that I dislike cats, or anything. Every time I’ve come across one, it doesn’t seem to care for me.” He says.

“Like, ignoring you or acting aggressive towards you?” Yuri asks.

“Suddenly a cat expert.” Mila giggles.

They ignore her. “Mostly ignoring me.” Seung Gil clarifies.

“They don’t hate you, genius. That’s them showing respect.” Yuri explains. “They only meow at you if they think you’re stupid, and test you if they think they can get away with it.”

“Sounds like you.” Mila teases.

“Shut up.” I can almost hear the blonde rolling his eyes. “Have you thought about getting a new dog?”

A brief pause. “Um, yes, but I’m not sure I’m ready?” Seung Gil can actually talk about his old pet without getting emotional; it’s progress. “And I’m not sure about bringing a dog around Phichit’s hamsters. We’ll have to talk about it.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Yuri agrees. “Yeah, maybe discuss that first.”

“I think a cat would be more dangerous around hamsters, to be honest.” Mila offers. “I want a puppy.”

“You’re not around enough for a puppy.” Yuri reminds her.

“Whatever.” Mila whines right before she gasps. “Yuri, we’re gonna be late!” She groans. “Sorry, Seung Gil, we gotta go. Nice talking to you!” Her voice is rushed with urgency.

“Yeah, see you around. Talk to Phichit about the hamster thing.” Yuri adds.

“I will.” Seung Gil agrees. “Nice seeing you both.”

Even though I’ve done nothing, the sense of pride that fills me at Seung Gil’s interaction with my friends could outshine a star. If I could see myself, I’d seriously say I was beaming. “Oh, доброе утро Phichit!” Mila greets me around the corner in Russian, not too flustered to spare me a grin. “Your man is in the lobby!”

“Hope he doesn’t run into Celestino.” Yuri mutters with a tired smirk, brushing by me with force.

The last thing on my mind was the two of them meeting; I was so caught up in Seung Gil’s personal victory that I kinda forgot my boss and I used to be lovers. Now that I’ve put both feet on the ground, I rush to the front desk to find my boyfriend and remind him of who else is around. It’s not really a warning, but I know he doesn’t like being caught off guard in social situations. “Morning, beautiful.” Seung Gil yawns when I come into view. “Did you talk through everything with Chris?”

I fall into his open arms, slightly confused how he remembered my ex’s voice, but nod. “Yeah, it’s all settled. Speaking of my past, I want to remind you that—”

“Phichit, you’re still here!” Ciao Ciao just had to walk in from the breakroom at this exact moment, didn’t he? Wonderful. Should all my high school boyfriends join us, too? I turn around, feeling a little awkward, but don’t leave the comfort of Seung Gil’s arms. Celestino blinks with a small smile. “Oh, I heard your voice and thought you were alone. Sorry.”

Why is he walking over here? Is he trying to shake hands with Seung Gil? “Hi, I’m Celestino, Phichit’s boss. You must be Seung Gil.”

The two shake hands, albeit slightly stiffly, and Seung Gil nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Just picking him up before I head to bed.”

It’s a slightly weird thing to say but nobody can ever call him insincere. Celestino sort of laughs with a nod of his own. “Makes sense. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I suppose my boss is also rather genuine, too. “You’re taking good care of our resident therapist, I hope.” Is…is he acting paternal right now? “I was going to talk over some stats with you, Phichit, but it can wait for tomorrow. I won’t keep you two.” Like with our talk about our relationship, Celestino has decided to spare me a considerable amount of drama and discomfort. We didn’t get so lucky when Seung Gil met Chris, but that’s all good now. I nod, reaching for Seung Gil’s hand.

“Yeah, we’ll go over that tomorrow after my shift.”

“Great.” Celestino waves, heading back to the desk. “Good to meet you!”

Over his shoulder, Seung Gil replies: “You, too.”

And just like that, I never have to worry about my boyfriend meeting a relevant ex again. I let out a long breath, sinking into the passenger seat of the car. “That was only a little awkward.” For whatever reason, this makes Seung Gil laugh. Confused, I turn to him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Why should it be awkward? We’re all grown. We all know people have pasts, and fuck other people.”

“You make it sound like I’m still doing that!” I laugh in spite of myself.

“I mean before.” He amends, driving us to my place. “Don’t tell me I was supposed to think you were a virgin when we met.”

The concept is too funny to not laugh at; even Seung Gil laughs at his own comment. Or maybe he’s laughing at me accidentally snorting when I catch my breath. “That’s so ridiculous! You are ridiculous.”

“Honestly: I know what happened between you two, and you were upfront about it. I know you see him every day of the week and he’ll be in your life for a long time.” He shrugs. “He’s an adult about it, though, and treats you with respect. He shook my hand. I don’t mind.” I sit up straighter, staring at the side of his head as if to see his thoughts and how they’ve formed so I can make sense of them.

“You don’t mind what?”

“Your past, I guess. Knowing what you and your boss used to do. It’s not a big deal to me.”

I know he has a past of his own, but we’ve never discussed it in much detail. Teasingly, I nudge his shoulder. “How many exes did you say you had?” I make sure I use a joking tone, but that doesn’t stop the redness from tinting his face. “I’m kidding, babe! You know I don’t care about that.” I even add in a laugh to remind him none of that stuff matters. “I know it’s only me now, so who cares about the past?”

“You’re too much for five AM, P.” He shakes his head with a smirk. I laugh more, enjoying the sound mixing with his occasional chuckle. For the rest of the ride, I lean against his shoulder, my hand in his, happy to sit in silence with Seung Gil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mila said ‘good morning' when she ran into Phichit; he's got the weird shift that starts at night and ends in the morning. By the way. ..there's only one more chapter, and then the bonus one! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh thanks so much for your continued support, dear readers :3


	19. Socks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta post before intermission's over.. .aaahhhhh BTW, did you notice the other YoI characters calling into Phichit’s show? Mickey was the first to call, envious of his sister’s new confidant; next was Leo, concerned about his boyfriend moving; Georgi called in, too, trying to get over his ex; JJ called to try and balance bro time with fiancé time; Chris was the last caller, but y’all knew that! So, yeah, the last regular chapter is a Seung Gil chapter. I’m gonna be 100% with y’all: it’s fluff. Like, all fluff. I make no apologies for that because these characters and I have worked hard to get to this point XD For real, though, the fight in the last chapter was hard to write because I love these two so much; the fluff is my reward hahha Anyway, who’s ready for sauciness?

Sleeping in used to mean forgoing an alarm and ignoring the sunlight streaming in through the blinds. It used to mean lingering in dreams, catching up on as many lost hours from the week as possible. There are times that it’s simply staying in bed, not tending to adult responsibilities as long as body functions remain cooperative. Since meeting Phichit, I’ve found that it can also mean other things. This particular morning, it means teasing kisses all over my face until I open my eyes, greeted by a smiling, blushed face. Then it means deep kisses and roaming hands, rolling in the sheets in a tangle of bare limbs and wrinkled blankets. It’s my back arching off the mattress, traveling lips leaving a rosy constellation across my neck, shoulders and chest. Sleeping in means fingers tugging at his hair and reveling in the music made with every moan he lets loose. Each touch is hot enough to burn my skin, every movement sending me further into incoherence. I forget how to breathe, how to think, how to speak; my body doesn’t forget how to respond, though, wrapping my arms and legs around him, crashing my mouth to his lips, chin, neck, chest: any and everywhere. Hip bones dig into my skin, foreshadowing bruises on my thighs that feel good; every part of me feels good when I hear my name cried out between panting and broken curses. The view gets better when gravity pushes him down, flushed and glistening under the soft sunlight filtering through the blinds. My hands can’t decide on a place to stay, searching for stability; he takes mercy on me, threading our fingers together on the bed. Sleeping in has never been so much fun.

Then again, it can also mean some actual hours of sleep, too. Sleep doesn’t evade me so much when I’m under the covers with Phichit, arms around each other to keep any distance at bay. As consciousness slowly returns, I try to limit my stirring so I don’t wake him up; I can’t help but draw circles on his shoulder, though. His skin is soft after our unproductive shower, the warmth keeping me in a cozy state. I let my eyes stay shut, knowing every inch of him by heart with just the skim of my fingers. His collarbones dip into a soft curve below his neck, one side a whisper more prominent than the other; his shoulders, smooth and slightly narrow, carry stress I’ve tried to knead out, but it always comes back; down his shoulder blades to the soft dip in his back, the place I like to rest my hands when I give him goodbye kisses; his ribs shift with every inhale, relaxing again when he exhales near my ear; my hand finds his chest rising and falling softly, heart beating under my palm. When I open my eyes, I scan his face for any signs of waking up. His eyes are closed, thick lashes shadowing the top of his cheekbones, still lightly flushed. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, dark and slightly swollen from the moments preceding our nap. With a light touch, I brush some of his hair away from his forehead; the dark strands have yet to fully dry, some sticking to his face. I slowly pull my hand back as he sighs through his nose. He sleeps more than I do, but I still hope I haven’t woken him; as an insomniac, I know how precious sleep is and I’d hate to deprive someone of their rest.

Carefully, I slip my arms from Phichit and reach over to the nightstand; my phone should be charged by now. I ignore the time and scan my notifications: a couple texts and emails, more social media tags and mentions and such than I’m used to. Before I met my boyfriend, I was rarely ever spoken of online, and seldom appeared in anyone else's pictures. Now, it's quite common to be tagged here or there in a post and be featured in selfies. I can’t say I necessarily get why Phichit needs to photograph me before a date night or when I play with his hamsters; I don't always understand the tags he uses or what the hell ‘potd' or ‘loml’ means; am I supposed to respond to the same post I'm in on every website it's on? And to make things even stranger, most of the pictures we take don’t even end up being uploaded: they stay in Phichit's phone or get saved to his laptop. After clearing my phone's notifications, I unlock the device and smile like a fool at the image that greets me. One morning, the two of us were lounging in bed and Phichit got it in his mind to take pictures, including a few of me kissing his cheek in my sleepy state. Did I mention I had no idea he was doing this? It wasn’t until he sent me the kiss photo, causing my phone to wake me, that I figured out what he did. He never posted any of the pictures, but did set that kiss one as my wallpaper later that day. Looking at it now, the smile I have in the image is sort of like the one he currently has: sweet, relaxed and stupidly adorable. Maybe he'd appreciate this moment later; what harm could one photo of him sleeping do? A few silent clicks later, I pick the best picture and send it to him, frowning when I don’t hear his phone go off. Where did he leave it?

“Babe?” He rubs at his eyes, reaching out with his other hand. “Seung Gil?”

I abandon my phone near the lamp, clasping his hand and moving closer. “I’m here.”

As soon as I’m within reach, Phichit ensnares me in something like a full body hug that almost chokes the air from me. “Were you thinking about getting up again?” His voice is muddled with sleepiness, bleary eyes at half-mast.

“Not really. I’m just awake.”

He hums in response, eyes shutting again. “Good. I like being in bed with you.”

I kiss the top of his head, eliciting a content sigh. My eyes drift up to the ceiling at the asymmetrical light fixture; I wonder if its shape was intentional. When I moved in here, I didn’t even bother to look at such things. In all honesty, I just wanted a roof over my head within walking distance from the office that allowed pets. It didn’t matter that the dark walls make the space seem smaller or that the peephole on the door is too high to comfortably use: it’s affordable and a place to sleep. Most of the time, I appreciate how quiet it typically is and that I have my own space away from the world, but I still prefer staying at Phichit’s place: his furnishings have more personality, his bed has a better mattress, he has two microwaves. Then again, those things can be in any place, can’t they? Even in a building that’s new to both of us. Maybe there’s another reason why I like staying at Phichit’s. “Phichit?” I use a quiet voice to avoid startling him. He nuzzles the skin near my chest and shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want a fireplace?”

His giggle is soft, tickling my neck. “What kind of question is that?”

I shrug, still curious. “They’re nice.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I’d like one.” Phichit yawns after a beat, pulling the blankets up further. “I also want a tree that flowers, somewhere out on the lawn. I must have flowers.” The seriousness of his tone is almost funny; this is evidently important to him.

“Like a garden?”

His arms tighten around me. “Well, maybe just at the windows, or by the door.”

I nod, using the ceiling as a canvas to visualize this place. “What kind?”

“Nothing blue or purple or pink.”

Oddly specific, but I can work with that. “And what about the inside?”

“A big tub. It’s been too long since I had a good bubble bath. A walk-in closet would be amazing, too. You know how small my closet is.”

“What do you like about your apartment?”

More alert now, Phichit shifts so he can sit up a bit like me, head propped on the pillows. “Rent is good. I have a nice view, I guess. The thermostat is easy to use.” I’m not sure what that means but nod anyway. “I really like the color of my kitchen walls, and the cabinets are big. I wish I had more drawers, though, and storage space. Especially in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, you only have one weird drawer at the sink.” I laugh, remembering when I first discovered the useless, skinny storage space.

Phichit groans, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. “It’s so stupid! And I hate that my front door is outside.”

“Where should it be?”

This sends him into a laughing fit, rolling over to his back. “I didn’t mean—! Okay, you know how a hotel has a lobby with the room doors inside and a motel doesn’t? It just has doors visible to the outside world?” His explanation settles his laughter, but only a little. I agree that I know what he means and he steadies his breathing. “That’s what I mean! I like how your place, this place, is only accessible from inside. It’s safer, and more personal, I think.” I’ve been told my building looks like a shopping mall only instead of stores, we have apartment doors. The view from my welcome mat took some getting used to: it’s only a few feet from the railing that separates one from tumbling into the lobby fountain. “Sometimes it’s nice to have all the quiet around, too.”

“You like it here?”

“I think it’s nicer than my place. Mine’s pretty old and small.” Phichit returns to my side, lacing his fingers with mine. “I also like being downtown, being in the city.”

His apartment is more suburban than mine, but I didn’t know it made a difference to him. “Would you rather live here?”

“In the city?”

“In this apartment.” My clarification is met with silence. Is it shock or uncertainty, or what the hell is he thinking? His hand is still in mine, so I squeeze it for some sort of reassurance but it stays frozen in place. “Um, listen, P. I didn’t mean to throw that at you like that. It’s just…I mean, we basically live together already and with one rent, we could…I don’t know, maybe save money for a house, or a bigger place?” This doesn’t make things better: he takes his hand away, shielding his face behind it with a shaky sigh.

“Seung Gil!” He whines. I’m at a loss for words, confused as to what’s going on. “I’m so dumb!”

Yeah, still confused. “What? No you’re not.”

Suddenly, he sits up to stare at me. The blankets pool in his lap as he scrubs at his face. “I didn’t think you were up for moving in together yet! I thought if I asked, you’d think I was moving too fast, or being too needy, and I didn’t want to push you away by bringing it up.” The words tumble over each other, almost too fast to catch. I don’t get a chance to sort them before he starts up again. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but you never mentioned it so I thought I should just keep it to myself? And then I thought you preferred having your own space, because I know you like alone time, and I didn’t want to pressure you. And…ughh, dumb.”

I wouldn’t use that word. I would say he’s been overanalytical, but that’s nothing new. Phichit makes a face, arms limp at his sides. Is this one of those times when he needs a hug, or something? Maybe that’ll show him that everything’s fine; we’re fine. “Come here.” Immediately, he throws himself into an embrace, squeezing tight. “I get it.”

“Really?”

I nod, resting my chin on his head. “Yeah, but you don’t have to worry. I’m right here.”

Somehow, Phichit holds me even tighter. “You’re right.” He mumbles on an exhale. “Don’t laugh, but…I just didn’t want to fuck anything up this time.” I feel like there’s something more he wants to say, but he sighs instead. When I notice a shiver run through him, I pull the blanket up around us. “With you, it’s different.” He doesn’t need to elaborate for me to understand; understand and agree with a silent nod. “So you think I should move in here?” He lifts his head to meet my eyes, a bashful smile an unusual, but becoming, sight on his face.

“Well, we live together all the time, but in two different places.” I shrug. “With one apartment, we can save on rent and never have to worry about packing overnight bags again.”

“I’m on board, but I thought you preferred my place?”

“I think it’s you that I prefer.” I admit. “But if you want me to move in over there, I could do that. It’s something to talk about.”

Phichit’s smile falters, replaced with an uncertain frown. He runs his hands down to mine, backing up to add space between us. “Uhh, speaking of talking about things…there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up with you.” The way he plays with my fingers is a clear sign that he’s nervous; he did this before when telling me how the pinkish stain got on my college sweatshirt. “I got an email from my old boss, and she said there’s always room for me at the office.” His hands still. “It would mean leaving the station, and my schedule would change a lot, but…but I think I’m ready to go back to counselling.” I’ve yet to hear why this is making him nervous. “I’m not one hundred percent on my decision yet, but I think it’s something I want.” He walks his fingers up my palms to my elbows, eyes glued there. If he wants to go back, what’s the problem?

“Isn’t this good news?”

Phichit shrugs, eyes still downcast. “Sort of. I mean, I’ve had the show for so long, I don’t know if I can leave it behind. How do I leave my friends and my callers?”

Realistically, his friendships aren’t in any danger; he won’t run into Yuuri, Mila or Yuri to and from the station anymore, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be in his life. “Your friends are your friends, P, even if you don’t see them at work.” I remind him. “You don’t see Minami every day, but he’s still your friend, right?”

“That’s true.”

“If it’s an issue, maybe you could split your time between the station and the office, like when you first started.” I shrug. “You can keep your listeners and get new clients.”

At last, his eyes peer up at mine. “You think I could do it?”

Only if the sun rises every morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that someone as sharp and vibrant as Phichit is susceptible to the human condition, complete with uncertainties and insecurities. I tilt his chin to level our views. “I know you can.” With those words, his smile starts to return. I want to say something encouraging, taking a second to sort out my thoughts. “You’re really smart and good at what you do. I know you love helping people, so there’s no way you’ll half-ass either job.” This makes him laugh with eyes so lively, I forget where I was going with my carefully crafted words. Time to improvise: “I believe in you.”

“Babe!” Phichit tackles me in a hug, our bodies hitting the mattress with a forceful bounce. “Who taught you how to pep talk?”

It’s not easy to breathe, let alone respond. I wriggle slightly out of his grip to let some air return to my lungs. “Is this a hug, or impending death?”

He laughs, getting the message and backing off a bit. “A hug ’cause you’re the best! What was I supposed to do, not pounce on you?” Phichit kisses whatever skin is available to him, eventually finding my mouth with more energy than one should have upon waking from a nap. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Soft lips make it difficult to respond, or even think. “Okay.”

“I’ll be closer to the office here.”

“That is interesting.” Not as interesting as basking in the flavor of Phichit kisses, but yeah: one more reason to ask him to stay. “So…” This man is so distracting. “Move in with me?”

Pulling away to gasp for air, Phichit nods emphatically and drags me on top of him. “Yes.”

There are times when he is insatiable, craving more and demanding to be given exactly what he wants; today has been one of those days. I thought our nap meant he’d gotten his fill, but his greedy hands and hips have other plans. Honestly, though, I can’t complain; witnessing the extent of his flexibility is fun, and his enthusiasm is infectious. However, a weird phenomenon is starting to register in my brain: the more exhausted I get, the more energized he gets. This becomes quite clear while I’m trying to catch my breath, limbs aching and the rest of me begging for rest again, as Phichit peppers my face with kisses and bounces out of bed for a quick shower and a bathroom serenade. How is he not on the brink of passing out? How can he still sing after wearing out his voice so much? How can he even walk without complaint? “Damn.” I dump his pillow on my face, shutting my eyes and the rest of the world out. There’s a chance I can get some rest before my stomach objects to not being fed in so long. Not a big chance, but a chance.

“Seung Gil?” Phichit’s voice filters from the doorway through the pillow, chipper as ever. I grunt a response, too lazy to use words. “What’re you doing?” His laugh becomes much clearer when he removes the pillow without warning. I groan, rolling over to my side.

“I’m tired.”

“Sounds like someone needs breakfast.” He kisses my cheek twice. “I’ll be out there when you’re ready, okay?” And with that, he drops the pillow back on my head not too gently. He may have forgotten, but I don’t exactly have groceries at the moment; what he’s going to do for food is a giant question mark, though I’m sure he’ll figure something out. It’s going to be strange having a full fridge and two microwaves after Phichit moves in. Strange, but welcome. His scent, faint on the pillowcase, will be present in every room now. His family photos will reside with mine. Maybe we can get rid of my stupid couch and use his instead. We can use my storage room for the hamsters, and maybe utilize the closet in there for his extensive wardrobe. I wonder if he’ll be able to figure out the specific way the key needs to be jiggled to unlock the door. The mental image of Phichit singing some showtune while turning the key, then struggling with the key as his singing intensifies makes me laugh. Soon, my laugh won’t echo off these walls alone anymore.

After a little while, more sleep isn’t going to happen and I’ve accepted this. On a long sigh, I roll out of bed and scan the floor for any viable clothing options. When I come up empty, I pull the top pair of sweats and the nearest pullover from my dresser and toss them on with a yawn. Spring may be in effect, but the floors are still cold to the touch; gotta find some socks. I only get one on when my doorbell rings. I don’t think I’m expecting anything, like a package, and I’m certainly not expecting anyone, like a visitor. Could it be maintenance to check on my temperamental heating unit? I slip on the other sock and pick one of Phichit’s ball caps to wear before leaving the bedroom, spotting him at the counter with a plastic bag. The instant he sees me, his smile turns pouty and he narrows his eyes my way. “Mr. Lee, you’ve got some nerve.”

“And you’ve got some food.” I reach for one of the takeaway boxes, but he pulls it away, stepping between the counter and me.

“But you don’t.” He turns the bill of my hat to the side so he can kiss me, turning it back and leaning against the counter with his phone in hand. “Until you explain this!” Inches from my face, a sleeping Phichit on the screen gets a short laugh out of me. I’d forgotten all about that picture, and that I sent it earlier. He tosses his phone to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seung Gil, really?” His voice may have a stern edge to it and his body language is supposed to ward off my laughter, but that gleam in his eyes is nothing short of amused.

I lift the phone up, smiling at the screen again. “You look cute.”

Phichit rolls his eyes with a smirk, opening one of the cardboard containers. “Is that for the secret photo shoot when you were feeling snuggly?”

“Maybe.” I chuckle. “But also because you’re nonsensically adorable.”

“You didn’t post that anywhere, did you?”

It's my turn to roll my eyes. “Yeah right.” Since when do I post pictures of anything? “So you got delivery?” I watch him dish up two plates of noodles; like, as in pasta noodles. “How did the delivery guy get in the building?”

He laughs with a shrug, handing one plate over. “I don’t know. He must’ve followed someone into the lobby. This is from a new place, by the way.” We settle at the coffee table, shoulder to shoulder on the floor. “It's Italian food, but in to-go boxes with chopsticks. They have so many different types of noodles and shit, but I thought we’d like these for sure.” Phichit goes on about the menu, describing other items and commenting on our food. I’m too busy eating to respond, but man, does he have a nice voice. “I forgot to get water. Want something to drink?”

I nod at the offer, clearing my throat. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Unless you want juice or soda; then that’s a problem.”

“Water's fine.”

Something makes him scoff, but I can’t see him from where I sit. “You have such weird taste in pictures, babe. Seriously.” Phichit informs me when he gets back to the living room.

“What?”

“The ones you put on the fridge.” He nudges me after I set my glass down. “You picked the ones I thought I deleted. Like where we're laughing at the movies, and one when we were outside waiting for an Uber.” The pictures in question aren’t weird, as he kindly phrased it; they’re more on the candid side, and none ended up being uploaded or shared with anyone else. We both look happy, and that’s what I like.

I shrug, setting my plate aside. “I like them. We look happy.”

“Well, I guess I don’t mind them on our fridge.” He pauses to drain his glass. “Did you have an idea of when I should bring my things? I have a lot.”

Before we move him in, I need to organize my crap and clean up. I think it'd be best for Phichit to be comfortable here before he goes back to work; that way, he won’t have any additional stress to weigh him down. “I have to clean and stuff, but how about before you go back to work? One less thing to worry about.” I suggest.

“That’s a good idea.” Phichit nods. “We'll have to get started, then.”

“Are you excited?”

“For moving, or going back to my old job?”

“Hmm.” I’d initially meant moving in, but I guess I’m curious about both. “Both, I guess.”

Phichit smiles, resting his head in his hand, elbow on the sofa behind us. This smile is the one that makes me feel like my heart is in good hands; this smile can cure what ails me. “I am.” Warmth colors my face, I’m sure, accompanying a grin of my own. “I’ve missed helping people on a personal level, and interacting with them in the same room. I know it can get heavy, but it's…it's so rewarding, Seung Gil, to see someone build themselves back up in front of your eyes.” I nod, hearing his unspoken desire to continue thinking aloud. “And last time, I didn’t have you, you know?” His cheeks are tinged with pink, smile only growing. “I couldn’t come home to you, or talk to you, back then. There were no Seung Gil hugs or kisses, or random stories read to me, and I didn't have your hand to hold, or anything. I’ll have that this time around, and, well, I don’t know. I think that might make things easier, and better.” He moves in closer after I drape an arm around his shoulders. “It'll be fun to live with you, too. Are you excited?”

Am I excited to live with my boyfriend? Having a roommate who pays rent on time, keeps things clean, can cook without setting off the smoke alarm and won’t bring strangers over unannounced would be ‘exciting’, but having a roommate who also listens to and values what I have to say, makes me laugh and smile over esoteric things, cares about the state of my mental health, wakes me up with kisses and sex after holding me until I fall asleep and makes me feel like I’m worth something…what’s the proper word for that? ‘Excited' just doesn’t seem like enough. I guide Phichit's face toward mine, pressing my mouth to his, hoping I can convey everything I’m feeling but don’t know how to say. “Of course, beautiful. You mean so much to me.”

“As much as you mean to me.” Phichit says with a nod, turning my hat to the side again. He’s the one who moves in for a kiss this time, slow and gentle. I start to get lost on his lips, falling into the soft touch with all of my senses joining me. I only snap back to the real world when he laughs suddenly, fingers to his mouth. “Sorry, it's just…your socks.” My what? I look down, wiggling my toes in the mismatched pair, not grasping what’s so funny. Generally, Phichit matches his socks three out of five times, so I must be missing something.

“What about them?”

“You seriously could never find their matches?”

I shake my head, no longer annoyed at the missing socks. “No, I couldn’t. I made an exception, though. I know they’re different, but they still work as a pair.”

This is a good answer to Phichit: he gives me another kiss, cradling my face in his hands. I lean into the warmth, deciding it only makes the kiss better. All too soon, he rests his forehead on mine with a sigh. “You’re something else, Mr. Lee.” Another quick kiss, chased by a gorgeous grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One update to go, wonderful peeps. It, too, is fluffy, but will be told from a new POV. As with my first fic, I find it fun to explore a relationship through the eyes of an outsider; shines a new light on things, you know? It’ll be good, it’ll be good: no worries XD Until then, thank you for reading, from the bottom of my little heart, and do take care~


	20. MT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth time: this story had three versions, all of which ended with this exact same bonus chapter! I didn’t write all three versions, only outlining the first two, but this final update always stayed the same. It's from Otabek's POV, and takes place about two years after the last chapter. I’ll eventually write an entire OtaYuri fic, but IDK when that'll be as I already have a new project in the works XD For now, enjoy the final update of Under Falling Snow~

Well, today has been bizarre. I had to settle on snacks for lunch because Seung Gil disappeared for the hour and even Sara was too busy on the phone to spare me a few minutes for a meal. If that wasn’t weird enough, they both left early but at different times. Seung Gil said he had an appointment and an hour later, Sara claimed she was feeling a migraine coming on. Really, it almost feels like they were keeping something from me. I mean, they’re not obligated to tell me everything that goes on in their lives, but I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen him so distracted or her so flighty. Finishing out the day in silence wasn’t unusual, but it didn’t sit well.

Now that I’m in my own house, the uncomfortable stirring in my gut doesn’t go away. If anything, it gets worse. It’s never this quiet, the air usually filled with loud music or shouting from the other room. There aren’t any lights on, either, like the place is vacant. While I take my boots off at the door, I wonder if I’ve forgotten something. Was today important, or was there anything scheduled that’s slipped my mind? A long sigh is all I can muster, walking through the house when all I want is to fall into bed. It doesn’t take long for my annoyance to turn into concern after failing to find my husband or our cat. They should both be here, but I come up empty from the living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. My stomach starts to churn, hands starting to get clammy. “Yuri?” Still nothing. A glow from the kitchen window means the light in the backyard is on. Why is it on? I slide the door open, frustration clouding my worry: the blonde in question is casually chatting on the phone, cat curled in his arms, in one of the deck chairs like it isn’t below zero. “Why the hell are you out here?”

He jumps, Potya leaping from his grip and bolting past me. “I gotta go.” Yuri ends the call, frowning at me. “Why are you yelling?” Our conversation shifts to Russian when it’s just us.

“You left all the lights off, like you’re not here. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“My car is in the driveway. Where else would I be?”

“How should I know?” I roll my eyes and take the seat across from him. “I didn’t think you’d be sitting outside in freezing weather, that’s for damn sure.” A pain behind my eyes reminds me that I’m far too tired for any kind of arguing. I sigh, trying to rub the ache away. “Look, I had a long day. What’s going on? What're you doing out here?”

Yuri folds his arms over his chest, pouting. “I was…on the phone.” We let his words hang in the air, not bothering to touch them. “What’s your problem, anyway? Did something happen?”

“People were being weird. It’s not a big deal, just…felt like I was out of the loop.”

He suddenly stands from his seat, grabbing my arm. “They’re weird people. What do you expect? I’m hungry, so let’s go get food. Get up, Beka.” Now he’s the one acting strange. Since when does he switch topics like that? It’s almost like he was lost, words not sure where to go. Reluctantly, I stand, but I don’t let him pull me anywhere. “Aren’t you hungry?” Yuri tugs on my arm with both hands, unable to make me budge.

“I guess, but what’s the rush?”

“I told you.” He rolls his eyes, darkness out here obscuring the jade color. “I’m hungry.”

I sigh, finally following him back through the house. “Fine. Where are we going?”

“Uhh…” Yuri pauses as we put our shoes and jackets on, idly tossing his hat from one hand to the other. “Do you mind if I pick?”

Isn’t that what I suggested? I scoff, flipping my hood on. “Fine. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” That’s…unexpected. It’s not like today is anything special: just a regular Friday in February. Yuri gets impatient with my silence, waving his keys. “Just come on. I’ll drive.” There’s no room for me to respond, so I follow him to his car. Once inside, I have to shove my hands in my pockets while the heater takes its time warming up. I’ve told Yuri to have it looked at, but he’d rather save for a new car altogether. “Shit.”

I scan his face: Yuri’s chewing his bottom lip, glaring at the steering wheel. He taps a rhythmless beat on his legs, still silent. “What’s the problem?”

He sighs, blowing his hair out of his field of vision. “I want this to be a surprise, but I don’t know how…” Yuri fumbles around the cup holders and center console, finding a pair of sunglasses. “Here: wear these.” He orders while starting our mysterious journey out of the driveway.

Um, I fail to see how sunglasses will prevent me from seeing where we’re going. “You do realize I can still see through these, right?”

“Then close your eyes, too. Problem solve, Beka.”

Right: my bad. I laugh, following his instructions and sit back. “Why are we doing this?”

“Going out?”

“And making me keep my eyes shut.”

Yuri doesn’t answer right away. He hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything for a minute. “It’s a surprise, okay?” His voice is unusually soft: it’s the voice he saves for when his heart directs his brain to relax and be…well, soft. “Trust me on this. It’ll be worth it.”

“Okay.”

When the car slows to a stop, something hits my shoulder. “Keep your eyes closed! Do not open them until I say so. Seriously.”

“If you didn’t hit me, I’d still listen, you know.”

“And you know I can’t turn back time.” Yuri jabs his finger in the spot he previously hit with noticeably less force. The glasses slide off my face and I follow instructions: my eyes are still shut. “I’ll help you out.” It’s annoying to fumble with my seatbelt, like if it’s some complicated puzzle. It shouldn’t be so hard to do without sight, but I’m proven wrong and sigh in defeat when the sound of my door opening signals Yuri coming to my rescue. He snorts a laugh, releasing me from the restraint. “It’s been getting stuck lately. It’s not just you being inept.”

What a relief. “My hero.”

He helps me out of the car, looping his arm through mine and covering my eyes with his other hand. Walking around blindly is wildly uncomfortable but being held makes it less unpleasant. “Why do you keep leaning the other way?” Yuri tightens his hold, shifting my weight to lean into him. “You have the worst balance on the planet, I swear.” That’s probably not far from the truth. “Watch the steps here.” He counts one, two. What place do we go to that has two steps? My mind starts running down a list of restaurants we frequent, but I’ve never given any thought to the front steps of any particular place so it does me no good anyway. The darkness suddenly fades, warmth from his hand disappearing: do I open my eyes? “You can look now.” He uses his soft voice again, close enough that I can feel his breath against my skin.

When I open my eyes, I don’t see Yuri in front of me: I see the smiling faces of our friends. “Surprise!”

Wh-what?”

A few people, my husband included, laugh at my stuttered question. How else should I feel but confused when it’s clear I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on? Red and pink streamers are draped across the familiar living room, some colliding with the matching balloons scattered at the ceiling. The coffee table has been replaced with the fancy one from the dining room, littered with dishes of Valentine's candy and paper hearts. Bottles and trays of food line the back of the table, obscured by a foil-letter banner that reads: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY. “It's for you!” Phichit gestures at the general area, not bothered at all by the state of his home.

“An early anniversary party!” Victor adds with a blinding smile.

An early what? My focus shifts to Yuri, still holding my arm. His eyes are on his shoes, a little shrug showing he knows I want answers. “They wanted to celebrate with us before our trip.”

“Any excuse for Phichit to decorate his house.” Mila winks.

Each of our friends has their own little world: their lives happen there, and sometimes it’s messy and time consuming, and it isn’t always open for the rest of us to see. I think that’s why it makes me smile, knowing that each one took time from their world to join ours for something meaningful. “I see that.” I nod, amused by the…Phichit-like decorations. “Thank you, everyone.” This acknowledgment is the only thing required for the party to start. My husband gets pulled away with some of his friends, I get pulled the other direction and music starts to fill the space.

At the table, Sara leans over with a nervous smile. “Are you surprised?”

“To see you're feeling better, yeah.”

She covers her laugh, cheeks flushing to match her dress. “Sorry! We had to lie to you, or you’d figure something out. I’m bad with secrets.”

“We?”

Her eyes dart to the other side of the room, towards the door. Seung Gil has stepped in, leading a dark grey ball of fluff near the coat rack before Phichit meets him there. I can’t tell who Phichit is more excited to see: his boyfriend or their dog. He kisses them both, so it's anyone’s guess. Almost as quickly as he arrived, Phichit returns to his guests and Seung Gil cradles the dog in his arms to unclip the leash. Sara waves him over, bouncing on her feet. “Coal gets cuter every day!” Sara squeals when the puppy is within reach. Of course, Seung Gil doesn’t hand her over, but he stands close enough that he doesn’t need to.

“And heavier.” Seung Gil smirks. “Can you believe I helped make my own house look like this?”

I laugh, giving the room another glance. “Only a little obnoxious.” I wait for Sara to finish petting Coal before doing the same. “So fluffy.”

“She won't be when she gets older.” He looks up, blinking. “Were you surprised?”

Funny: Sara had the same question for me. “You were both acting weird earlier. I should've known something was up.”

Seung Gil rolls his eyes. “I had to pick up the balloons. They almost suffocated me in the car, so you’re welcome.” He may act like it was a chore, but if he really didn’t want to do it, he would’ve sent Sara or Phichit. “I do owe you lunch, though.”

“Where did you put the coffee table?” Sara asks.

With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “It's in the hamsters' room.” No, it's not an entire room for the small pets: it's simply what they call the spare bedroom where the cage is. “I told P it wouldn’t fit in the garage with both cars parked in there, but he tried it anyway. Thing is heavy as hell.”

“Can't blame a guy for trying.” She smirks.

I try not to laugh at his misfortune but can’t be blamed for failing. “Wow. Where's the sofa, then?”

“Don't worry about it.” Seung Gil scoffs, offering Coal table scraps. “Lot to fix after the party.”

“I think it's all very cute.” Sara beams. “Can you believe it's been five years? Does it feel that long, Otabek?”

Yes, in that it feels like I’ve known Yuri an entire lifetime, but no, in that it's all gone by so fast. I feel like it was just yesterday when I asked if he wanted to go with me to a concert in another city: he agreed, but only if our two-bed hotel room had a late checkout. It would’ve been an odd first date if we hadn’t already been friends, but I had a feeling we’d have a good time. We didn’t even need the other bed. “I believe it, but it doesn’t feel like that long.”

“It's different when you’ve been friends first, right?” Her smile is an obvious hint at her own relationship. Before she started dating Mila, the two were good friends for some time. “Time just kind of blurs.”

Nodding, I busy myself with trying to shut my growling stomach up while maintaining my status as above that of a slob. “Yeah, it does.” Time has kind of sped by with other relationships, too. I remember when Sara arrived at the office, flipping her hair over her shoulders and smiling at everyone she came across. She was always the first to clock off at the end of every day, and I assumed she had an active social life: turns out she has a brother who needed a ride after his work day. When Seung Gil got hired, I was glad to have help so I wouldn’t have such a heavy workload. I had no idea the man would become my source of lunch Monday through Friday. I don’t remember the last time we spent our lunch hour at the office, actually. He no longer seems perpetually annoyed at something, excluding the radio station I listen to after eleven: the music isn’t actually as unbearable as he makes it out to be, but no fucking way will he ever admit that. “How long were you all planning this?”

“Since you were planning a trip instead of a party.” Sara admits. “Mila heard about it from Yuri forever ago, but she just complained that we wouldn't get to celebrate. Once Phichit got a hold of that information, it was only a matter of what candy to buy.”

“Feel free not to eat it all.” Seung Gil shifts Coal to one arm to demonstrate his fondness for said sweets with his other hand. “He got the good stuff.”

It isn’t long until Phichit himself comes over, dragging Yuuri with him. Sometimes their steps are in sync, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Without spoken words, Seung Gil passes Coal over to Yuuri as Phichit takes Seung Gil’s hand in his. “I know you’re not real big on surprises, but we just couldn’t let you two go off without a party.” Phichit smiles, ignoring the quiet conversation his boyfriend starts with his best friend: the topic is puppies. “Are you having a good time?”

“Aside from the décor.” Sara giggles.

“There was an abundance of Valentine’s stuff, so what else could I do but buy it all?” Phichit laughs, unashamed of how tacky he’s made his living room for the evening.

“Whatever you say.” I shrug. “I wasn’t expecting to celebrate this year.”

The light in Phichit’s eyes dims, jaw dropping just enough for him to gape like the room’s been zapped of oxygen. “Wait, what?”

I thought it was pretty obvious that we weren’t celebrating since we’re taking a trip instead. Yuri wasn’t shy about telling people our plans, so why does Phichit seem so shocked? “Yeah, well, we weren’t throwing a party ourselves and I didn’t think any of you would do it.”

Placing his free hand over his heart, Phichit glares at me. “You scared me!”

Didn’t think I did that, but okay. “How did I…?”

“I thought you meant you didn’t want to celebrate, like if you were avoiding the occasion.” He rolls his eyes. “Who wouldn’t want to acknowledge something like a five-year anniversary, though? Unless you two were having issues, in which case, I’d feel really bad for all of this.” Phichit waves vaguely around the room before diving into the heart-shaped candies. “Yuri didn’t say anything, but you’re…you’re not having issues, right?”

Sara narrows her eyes my way, eyebrow cocked in skepticism. “You’re not, are you?”

I’m not sure how the conversation derailed this way, but it sure happened fast. “No. We’re good.”

“Well, even if you were having issues, it’s normal.” Phichit shrugs. “The important thing is figuring out how to properly express anger without getting ugly. That way, nobody bottles anything up and you’re both playing fair. I know you both have a voice, though, so—”

“P.” Seung Gil tugs on his hand. “Fun, remember?”

Phichit laughs, kissing him on the cheek. “Right! Sorry, Otabek. You’re having a good time, right?”

I nod, pouring a glass of whatever’s closest. “I am, thank you.” When I make eye contact with Seung Gil, he smiles with a nod of his own, quickly going back to talking with Yuuri. I used to think that only Yuri could guess what I was thinking: turns out Seung Gil is also a mind reader. It’s nice to have people who don’t need to be told to shut up or back off of a topic around. There’s a serious shortage of being understood, so I’m grateful when I can find it. It isn’t long before I’m alone with Seung Gil, Coal in my arms this time. The first time I ever held her was a couple days after Phichit brought her home, a gift first thing in the morning for Seung Gil. She was tiny: I was afraid of dropping her, but he said it’d be fine. Coal took an immediate liking to her new owner, sticking by his side as often as possible. Phichit tried to win her favor by spoiling her with secret treats, but Seung Gil got wise to this. “Did you call the guy about the chimney?” I ask, thinking about the last time I was over: the fireplace was off-limits because of the obstructed chimney. It was a real bummer, but oh well.

“Should be fixed Monday, but don’t tell Phichit.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. I know he’d like to surprise him when he gets off work.

“Finally.” I smirk. “It looks great and all, but it might as well be painted on if you can’t use it.”

Seung Gil huffs. “I know. Now I can get all my sweatshirts back.” Deep down, I know he doesn’t mind when Phichit steals his clothes: they share everything as it is. He asks me when my flight leaves tomorrow. “We’re not keeping you two up, right?”

“No, it’s at three.” It’s common knowledge that Yuri hates mornings, which is why I let him book the flight: fewer complaints, less yelling. “He’ll be happy to be out of the cold.”

“At least it’s not snowing.”

Coal yawns, the squeaky sound forcing me to smile. Seriously, there was no other option. “Keeping her up, though. You tired, Coal?” She answers with droopy eyes and limp paws. Seung Gil laughs, holding his arms out.

“I’ll put her to bed.”

Gently, I hand her back to her owner. I watch him walk in the direction of his bedroom, catching a glimpse of Mila walking a bunch of balloons over to Victor and Yuri. It’s anyone’s guess what they’re up to: both would die if it meant never teasing Yuri about something or other. Victor has his phone out, gesturing at Yuri, while Mila chases the latter with a length of ribbon, balloons trailing her. They won’t do any real harm, so I watch this odd game until Yuri ends up hiding behind me. “Help!” Yuri hisses as the others close in.

“With what?” I smirk.

“Yuri, come back!” Mila laughs. “We just want to talk to you.”

“That’s the biggest fucking lie.” Yuri shakes his head. “Go bother someone else! Phichit’s probably down for embarrassing pictures. Go find his dumb ass.”

Embarrassing pictures? With balloons and ribbon? “What?” I laugh.

“Come on, Yura. It’s only a few pictures, and it’ll be fun!” Victor, I’m sure, is lying.

Now might be a good time to intervene. Victor and Mila can be annoying, and it’s only a matter of time before Yuri snaps and makes a scene. “Didn’t Minami say he wanted to take pictures?” I pretend to look for him, hoping one of the two will be smart enough to play my game.

Victor smirks, grabbing Mila by the wrist. “Clever. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone, then.”

When they’re gone, Yuri sighs, coming out of hiding. “Thought they’d never leave.”

“What exactly were they trying to do?”

He rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out. “Embarrass me. Were you playing with the dog?”

Uh oh. “Coal likes me.”

“It was a yes or no question, Otabek.” Yuri’s hands are on his hips now: he sees right through my deflection. “I’m telling Potya you’re a cheater, and she’s going to hate you.”

This is meant as a threat, but I laugh. “She could never hate me.”

Yuri reaches around me, picking through the candy dishes for the ones he wants. “We’ll see. What were you two talking about, anyway?”

“With Seung Gil? Just asking about his house.” Unlike most of the general population, I’m privy to the innerworkings of Seung Gil’s mind. I know about when the chimney is blocked, when the sink leaks and if a fork gets stuck in the disposal: his annoyance is written all over his face, and I have only to ask ‘What’s up?’ Before moving here, he shared different housing options with me so he could talk through his thoughts on them. Before Coal was born, he asked how he should bring up the topic of getting a new dog to Phichit. Recently, he asked me if I’d accompany him and Yuuri for ring shopping. I’m not gonna lie: I don’t normally tell people about my personal shit because it makes me uncomfortable knowing they know my business. In a weird way, having Seung Gil tell me little parts of his life makes it easier to do the same with him. He's the one who suggested an anniversary trip, actually, and he gave me advice on how to approach the subject of visiting Yuri's family. It’s not so bad for him to know my fear of heights when I know about his belief in aliens. “Remember their housewarming party?”

With an impish smile, Yuri nods. “I’m one of the few who does.” He didn’t drink much that night. I had plenty, but not as much as some others did: there was a stripping contest and making out I wish I hadn’t witnessed. “Idiots and alcohol shouldn’t be mixed.”

Out in the crowd, a brilliant voice declares: “We need more shot glasses!”

I exchange a look with Yuri, one we share when our tolerance for stupid has just about reached its limit. “I have an idea.” I lean over to tell him the plan: grab our coats from by the front door while I sneak over to the hall closet and steal a blanket or two, and meet near the kitchen. When it's all said and done, we creep out the back and silently shut the door. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I mutter while putting on my jacket, eyes landing on the sofa that used to reside in the living room. I can’t stop laughing, knowing that the party hosts failed to find a better place for it.

“Do you ever wonder if we should find normal friends?” Yuri asks, wrapping himself up in his coat and a blanket. He bounces on the couch like it's so normal to be outside on a loveseat.

“Every day, baby.” I join him on the couch because I can’t think of a reason not to. “That was nice of them to throw a party for us. How much of it was your idea?” We're too far apart so I pull him closer, up against my shoulder.

Yuri drags an exhale out. “Not much, actually. I think they meant to surprise me, too, but Phichit can’t keep a secret and Mila has a big mouth.”

No wonder he was on edge earlier, knowing about the party and not being able to tell me. Yuri may front with others, but it kills him to hide things from me. Once, he spent way too much money on this ridiculous pair of leopard print brogues and didn’t tell me about it. Well, for about twenty minutes, until I mentioned something about my paycheck: he blurted out the news of his purchase and forfeit his right to pick where we went for the following month's date nights and gave me control of the TV remote for the week. Honestly, I wasn’t even mad. “Guess it's nice to celebrate with them.” I rest my head on his.

“At least the food didn’t suck.”

“Not on Seung Gil's watch.”

He scoffs, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “He's gonna fatten you up with all the takeout you eat.”

Maybe if I didn’t work out and eat healthy at home. I smile anyway. “And then what?”

“You'd both be fat. And me and Phichit would reminisce about the good old days when we didn’t have to worry about exceeding the weight limits of our beds.” Yuri sighs like he's ready missing some glory days. “I’m…never mind.”

No way in hell is he getting away with backtracking. “Now I’m curious.” I nudge him.

“Beka.” He whines but trudges forward. “I’m just…I’m glad you have a friend? Not like you don’t have friends, but, I mean, someone like Seung Gil who you see often and…who you actually like.” Yuri's voice trails off at the end, sort of rushing through his thought. “You don’t seem as bored with work anymore, and it's good. It's a good thing, and I’m glad.” I wonder if that was as hard to say as he made it seem. I kiss his hairline, catching the scent of his favorite shampoo. “Phichit says the same thing, too.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, almost hitting me in the face. “Your work husband isn’t such a downer when he gets home, I guess. He's been saying that for a while, though.”

“He talks more at the office. Doesn’t seem to hide as much from the others.” Seung Gil has definitely been more present at work over the past year or so, and he somehow seems more like he's living and not just existing. I don't think it's all my doing by a longshot: he has a house and a dog and more friends and, soon, a fiancé. Wait, did Yuri just say work husband? “And he’s my friend. You’re my husband.”

“Five years running.”

Like that’ll change. I chuckle, adjusting to lie back the length of the sofa and taking Yuri with me. “Indefinitely.” I add to his statement. He wedges himself between the back of the sofa and me, shivering a bit dramatically: it's freezing, yes, but that’s why we have blankets.

“I’m cold.”

Yeah, I gathered. “Here.” I sit up a little, wrapping my blanket around both of us. With this new arrangement, I can hold him close and still be covered. “Better?”

Yuri hums in what I assume is an agreement. “I want to talk about boring work shit.”

“Go for it.”

Maybe it’s not the norm, but we always warn the other when our discussion topic is about to get real. Whether it's the stupid thing the other did or if we should replace the washing machine, it comes with a warning. “Do you think I’d lose listeners if I changed my show? Not a lot, but…I don’t know, include stuff I’d actually listen to?” He sighs. Ever since Phichit went back to his counseling job, hours at the station shifted and Yuri took over the afternoon show while Minami took over graveyard. Well, Mondays are different: Yuuri's evening show is shorter and Minami's starts later to squeeze in Phichit's weekly talk show. Now, Yuri is stuck playing throwbacks from eleven to five. “I feel like I’m pretending to be Minami, or something, but I’m not a replacement. I’m someone else altogether.”

Even back when he was a DJ at the roller rink, Yuri had to stick to guidelines for the music he played. It doesn’t seem like much has changed since then: he’s only allowed to pick from a collection of songs during his show and it's the same set Minami used. Since taking over the late shift, Minami has made his show, Nightlife Soundtrack, all his own. “Can you imagine things staying this way?”

“Don’t want to.”

That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? Don’t like the job, change it. “Talk to Celestino, then.” I shrug. “Minami probably had to pitch his Nightlife concept before being allowed to play what he wants. You can do the same.”

“And if he says no?”

“Then you keep doing what you’re doing, but he'll know your opinion on it.”

Yuri rolls on top of me with little finesse, hair in his face. “When I come up with a pitch, you’ll listen to it and tell me how to sell this idea.” It's not a question, but more of a command. “My own show, created and curated by me.” The moon is out tonight, illuminating that smirk of his. I can just make out the slight flush to his face, probably from the cold but possibly from excitement. “You better be a dedicated listener.”

“I always am.” I pull his face down for a kiss, noting how quickly his lips turn from ice to flame. He tastes like sugar and champagne, sweetness on my tongue. “You’re delicious.”

“Keep tasting.” Yuri mumbles, already breathless. I tangle my fingers in his hair, bringing my back flat to the couch cushions. That’s when I see it, directly above us in the darkened sky: a streak of light crossing an unmarked path before vanishing in an instant. Because my mouth is still on Yuri's, my voice gets trapped and my words are nothing. He pulls away, frowning. “What the—”

“I saw one!”

This does nothing to clear the air. Yuri looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and it absolutely offends him. “You…you what?”

In spite of his irritation, I laugh. Laughing with a grumpy Yuri can sometimes end badly, but I'll take my chances. “A shooting star: I saw one, I swear.” For some reason, he found it hard to believe I’d never seen one before, but that was the case until just now. It wasn't for lack of trying, either: it simply never happened while I was looking. Yuri's expression softens, eyes rolling before shifting to glance upward for a second. “It was cool, but it was too fast. Why don’t they last longer?”

He shakes his head and rests his lips on mine. Soft, warm, unhurried. It's the kind of kiss that makes me forget I’m outside on my friend's sofa, three degrees away from freezing my ass off. “I don’t know, but you'll see more, and it won’t seem like just a flash.” Yuri answers. I guess now that I know what to expect, the next one might leave more of a lasting impression. Stars will come and go, but I’ll get to see them with the same person by my side: that thought helps keep the cold away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record: I have leopard print brogues, a fear of heights and a belief in aliens XD Also, if you’re curious, the original version of this story had Seung Gil first meet Phichit in the nineteenth chapter; it was an online and over-the-phone relationship, and Phichit invited him to the party but Seung Gil stood him up. After some thought, I didn’t want to write it that way hahha Can you imagine writing 80 000 words of two people not meeting in person? So I did some plot revision and nixed the not meeting thing and the second version had Phichit invite SG to the party, but he declined the invitation and Phichit went solo. Both previous versions were too angsty, so I tweaked it again and came up with what you’ve just read! Thank you so much for sticking with me and I can't express my gratitude for every kudos, favourite, follow and comment; I appreciate it all and wish each one of you the best ^u^ My next work is a Diamond no Ace fic, so keep an eye out if you’re into Miyusawa hahha Come find me on Tumblr under thefloralfox if the mood ever strikes you, and be well~


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